The Necromerchant's Apprentice
by Wandergirl108
Summary: When the only truly good man left in the world is an illegal drug dealer, you KNOW the world's messed-up. Here's how everyone's favorite Zydrate dealer came to be. Rated M for explicit content, most of which I cannot publish as of now, but may at some point in the future. Please review!
1. Prologue

_Bang! Bang!_

The young boy watched tearfully as his father's coffin was nailed shut.

"It's not fair," he whined to his mother.

His mother squeezed his hand. "It's fair," she said; "we couldn't keep up with your father's debts, so they had to take his pancreas back."

"But GeneCo was supposed to _save_ Daddy, not kill him!" the boy argued.

"GeneCo _did_ save him…from his illness," his mother replied. "We just…couldn't pay them back for it, so they had to take back what they gave us so they could give it to someone else who can."

"It's not fair," the boy grumbled again. "GeneCo's supposed to provide affordable organs to people who need them. _We_ needed one! Why did-?"

"Now, that's enough, young man," the boy's mother said sternly. "Mr. Largo does the best he can; he can't please everyone."

"You had to fight him just to get Dad's body back!" the boy shouted, turning on his mother.

"He's just trying to keep the streets clean," the boy's mother replied firmly. "He does the best he can, and I don't want to hear you say one more word about it."

"But-!"

"Not one more word," she repeated, meeting her son's tearful eyes sadly but sternly. "Never, _ever_ question Mr. Largo, _or_ GeneCo; the human race would have died out without them! Don't _ever_ speak out against them, to _anyone_. Understand?"

"But…" The boy's protest died in his mouth as he saw that his mother was also about to cry. "…Okay, Mommy," he finally promised.

His mother's head sagged slightly in relief. "Good," she said. The boy didn't know it, but she was only trying to protect him - in reality, she wholeheartedly agreed; but standing up to Rotti Largo, as she had learned during her struggle to claim her husband's body, was a very, _very_ risky thing to do.

At the funeral the next day, however, in spite of the promise he had made to his mother, the boy made a solemn vow on his father's grave:

_I will _never_ forgive Rotti…_or_ GeneCo._


	2. Eight Years Later

~Eight years later~

_There he is._

He had been looking all day for the local necromerchant. Now he saw him: Straight black hair that fell past his shoulders, streaked with different-colored highlights; white makeup that covered his face; maroon lipstick; a thick brown coat trimmed with fake fur; thick black gloves studded with metal; knee-high combat boots; and a leather strap across his chest that held a slim pack to his back. The full necromerchant get-up.

He stood where he was, ignoring the crowd flowing past him in the street, and tried to catch the necromerchant's eye; he knew how to contact one. He didn't want Zydrate, however…

The necromerchant's eyes met his for a split second; then, the necromerchant turned and hurriedly walked away.

He counted to five in his head, then called, "Hey! Wait!"

He ran after him, catching him as soon as the crowd was completely left behind.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else," he said quickly, getting the code phrase out of the way.

The necromerchant said nothing.

_This is it._

He got down on his hands and knees at the necromerchant's feet. "Please, sir-" he began.

"Begging won't get you a discount, kid." The necromerchant's voice was cold and unpitying.

He looked up. "I don't want Zydrate," he said.

"Then what _do_ you want from me?" asked the necromerchant coolly, raising an eyebrow at the figure on the ground before him.

He gulped; the necromerchant was unnervingly cold. "I…uh…" he stammered.

The necromerchant crossed his arms.

"Well…you're a necromerchant, right?" he began nervously.

The necromerchant narrowed his eyes. "Why do you ask?" he asked, his tone guarded.

"Well…_I_ want to be a necromerchant," he replied. "Can you teach me?"

The necromerchant gave a soft, contemptuous laugh. "Sorry, kid," he said; "position's taken."

"Taken?" he repeated, confused.

"There can only be one necromerchant per community," the necromerchant explained, sounding as though he were reciting something out of a textbook.

"How come?" he asked, curious.

"With the biggest powerhouse in the world declaring our business illegal, we can't afford to be fighting each other," the necromerchant replied.

He smiled. _"…the biggest powerhouse in the world declaring our business illegal…"_ "That's okay," he said; "I can go somewhere else, once you teach me. I mean, someone had to have taught _you_, right? I just want to know how it's done."

The necromerchant was silent for a minute, then started pacing around him. He stayed on the ground.

"What exactly do you think this job entails?" the necromerchant finally asked.

"I don't care," he replied; "I don't care _exactly_ what it entails - all I know is that Rotti outlawed it, so I want to do it."

"So you bear a grudge against Rotti…" the necromerchant mused, still pacing in a circle around the desperate young man on the pavement. "Why, exactly, do you want this job? What does your grudge stem from?"

"That's none of your business," he said; he didn't want to talk about it.

"If I'm going to train you, then it _will_ be my business," the necromerchant countered smoothly.

He sighed. "Organ repossession took my father when I was nine," he told the necromerchant. "It wasn't fair - he was sick, but we couldn't afford to keep up with his payments. I swore at the funeral, on his grave, that I would never forgive Rotti _or_ GeneCo. The thing is, I can't stand up to Rotti - people who do that end up dead."

"Being a necromerchant is punishable by death," the necromerchant pointed out.

"Well, at least it's not a _guaranteed_ death!" he argued.

"Hmm…" The necromerchant kept pacing. There was tense silence for a few minutes, and though he was nervous, he refused to back down. _I have to do this…for my father,_ he thought determinedly.

"How old are you, kid?" the necromerchant finally asked him, still pacing.

"Seventeen," he replied.

"Seventeen…" the necromerchant repeated slowly. "So still a minor, then." He paused. "You have a lot of potential, you know. You could be anything. If you become a necromerchant, all of that will have to be wasted. Once you get in, you can never get back out."

"I don't care," he replied firmly; "I have to live my life in defiance of Rotti and GeneCo - it's the only way I can live in Rotti's world and stay sane!"

The necromerchant laughed coldly, pacing around him again. "Sane," the necromerchant repeated mockingly. "You really think so? If you become a necromerchant, you'll have to adjust your definition of 'sane' - I can promise you that."

He said nothing; it didn't matter, but…

"You see, kid," the necromerchant went on, coming to a stop at his head, "in order to become a necromerchant…you'll have to die."

"_What_?" he exclaimed, his head snapping up to face the necromerchant standing over him.

"Oh, not _physically_," the necromerchant clarified with an evil smile. "But whatever makes up who you are now - your family, your friends, your home, even your _name_ - all of it will have to be gone and forgotten, if you're to be a necromerchant."

He shook his head. "Just show me how to do it," he said; "I just want to know how it's done. I don't want to lose everything I have - I just need to live my life as a rebel."

The necromerchant chuckled wickedly. "It's not that simple," the necromerchant said; "being a necromerchant isn't just a job, it's an entire way of life. It will have to be your only identity - 'Graverobber' will be your only name. I'll have to train you, for weeks, months - maybe even a year or two - before you can call yourself a necromerchant. If you want to do it, then you'll have to renounce your entire life as it stands, here and now - you won't even be able to bid your friends and family farewell, if you haven't already done so. You'll have to turn your back on _everything_, _now_…and if it turns out you aren't cut out for this job, I'll have to kill you - for my own safety, understand." The necromerchant crouched down, so that they were almost at the same eye level. "It will not be easy, nor will it be fun," the necromerchant warned softly; "being a necromerchant entails a great many things, most of which you will find unpleasant. Are you sure you want to do this?"

He bowed his head. "I must," he said, nervous but certain.

The necromerchant sighed. "Very well then. From now until you complete your training, your name - your _only_ name - is Apprentice." The necromerchant reached out his hand. "Come with me."

Apprentice took the necromerchant's hand, and they stood up together. "What should I call you?" Apprentice asked his new mentor.

"All others call me 'Graverobber', but until your training is complete, _you_ are to call me 'Master'," the necromerchant answered. "Is that clear?"

"Yes, Master," Apprentice replied.

And so it was that the boy, now Apprentice, turned his back on his life as a human being forever.


	3. Apprenticeship, Part 1

"Where are we going?" Apprentice asked his new master as they hurried through the alleys.

"_I_ am going to this evening's Z gathering," his master replied, "but before I do, I have to hide you somewhere."

"Hide me? Why?" asked Apprentice.

"Because you're not ready to confront the full swarm of local junkies," his master answered; "they'd tear you apart."

Apprentice blinked. "Thank you," he said; "for protecting me, I mean."

The necromerchant gave a scornful chuckle. "I'm not doing it for _your_ sake," he told Apprentice coolly; "I'm doing it because you'd get in the way of business."

"Oh." Apprentice wasn't sure what to think of that.

They turned down a couple more back alleys, before Apprentice's master came to a stop beside a dumpster at the end of a dead end.

"In here," he told Apprentice, opening the lid.

Apprentice stared. "In a _dumpster_?" he asked incredulously.

"Only the most desperate of junkies dig through dumpsters," the necromerchant told Apprentice, "and none of them will be looking around while I'm gone - they'll all be at the Z gathering with me. You'll be alone here."

Apprentice balked; this was too much, too soon.

"Get in there, kid," the necromerchant commanded Apprentice, his tone dangerously low; "you're my apprentice now, which means you now have to do _what_ I say, _when_ I say, _no matter what_. I _own_ you now." He tilted his head. "Unless, of course, you're having second thoughts?" he asked contemptuously.

"No, Master," Apprentice said quickly.

"Then get in there," the necromerchant ordered again.

Apprentice hesitated a moment, then nodded. "Yes, Master," he said, and he vaulted into the dumpster.

"For future reference, kid, you _will_ have to do as I say, no matter what, from now until you complete your training," the necromerchant told him as he tried to settle among the garbage bags. "Sometimes, it may seem more like I'm making a suggestion than giving you an order, but if I tell you to do something, _you do it_. Understand?"

"Yes, Master," Apprentice replied.

"Good." The necromerchant glanced around, then sighed and put his hand on the open lid. "I'll be back in about an hour," he told Apprentice; "until then, I suggest you try to get some sleep."

"Sleep?" Apprentice repeated. "But it's barely sundown!"

"If you're going to be a necromerchant, you're going to have to learn to take the opportunity to sleep whenever you can," Apprentice's master told him; "being a necromerchant is a 24-hour job, and we need to steal whatever opportunity we can to rest, day or night."

"That's not healthy," Apprentice protested; "it's best to have a regular, nightly sleep schedule, and-"

He was cut off by his master's cold laughter. It echoed in the alley - a humorless, empty sound that sent shivers down Apprentice's spine.

"Healthy," his master repeated after a minute, still chuckling. "Kid, there is little to nothing about this job that's 'healthy'. Get used to it."

"…Yes, Master," Apprentice said resignedly.

The necromerchant nodded. "I'll be back before too long," he told Apprentice, and he moved to close the lid on the dumpster.

"Wait!" Apprentice exclaimed.

The necromerchant paused.

"Thank you, Master," Apprentice said. "You know…for agreeing to train me."

The necromerchant gave another evil laugh. "Don't thank me yet, kid," he said nastily; "before long, you'll be anything _but_ grateful."

"I will _always_ be grateful to you, no matter _what_," Apprentice vowed.

The necromerchant just chuckled wickedly again. "You'll eat those words," he said, and he slammed the lid on the dumpster shut.

_I _will_, _always_, be grateful,_ Apprentice promised to himself; and if there was one thing he was good at, it was keeping promises.

He listened to his master's footsteps fade away. In seconds, there was total silence. In the quiet, the noise that had haunted him for years started echoing again in his head: the sound of hammers banging on coffin nails. He closed his eyes, though it made little difference in the dark; behind his eyelids, where the scene had been etched since he was nine, Apprentice saw his father's coffin being lowered into the ground and buried - gone forever. _It's been eight years, but it _still_ feels like yesterday…_ he thought.

The flame of searing anger and loathing that would forever burn in his heart flared as he remembered his vow: _I will _never_ forgive Rotti…_or_ GeneCo._

He sighed. _This is what I was meant to do._

~X~

The dumpster was far from comfortable, but Apprentice eventually managed to doze off…only to be awoken by his master five minutes later.

"Wake up, kid," the necromerchant snapped.

Apprentice groaned sleepily - forgetting, in his half-conscious state, that he was supposed to do whatever he was told.

"I said, _wake up_!" his master snarled, and he grabbed Apprentice by the back of his shirt and dragged him out of the dumpster, dropping him mercilessly on the ground.

"Ouch! Ow! Hey!" Apprentice exclaimed as he was manhandled - his shirt ripped and his back was scraped harshly against the edge of the dumpster as he was dragged out, and when he hit the ground, his skull struck the pavement with a _crack!_

The necromerchant looked down at him unpityingly. "You can't afford to doze," he snapped. "What if one of GeneCo's guards had been looking for you? If you were a necromerchant, you'd be dead right now!"

"I've only been your apprentice for about an hour!" Apprentice protested angrily, scrambling to his feet and blinking stars from his eyes. "You haven't even taught me anything yet! Besides, you told me to sleep!"

"Yes, I did - I told you to _sleep_, not doze and dilly-dally when I woke you up!" the necromerchant snarled. "You have to learn to wake up fast!"

"I didn't know that!" Apprentice exclaimed.

"Too bad," his master spat; "you made your choice, you've already left your old life behind, and I'm not going to ease you into this. Kindness, compassion, pity, love - these are things of your old life, and like all the rest of your old life, those concepts need to be dead to you as of _now_! Now here," he said, pulling out some clothes and shoving them at Apprentice; "put these on. Ditch your old things; tonight, the death of your old life begins."

Apprentice took the new clothes in his arms. "I'll _never_ forget who I am," he said, but he started changing.

"Oh, you will," the necromerchant said nastily as he watched Apprentice take off his torn shirt; "I guarantee it."

Apprentice's new clothes were plain and simple: gray boxers, a gray t-shirt, blue jeans, a black belt, black socks, and black hiking boots. When he came to changing out of his underwear, Apprentice hesitated and looked at his master, who met his eyes and coolly raised an eyebrow. Clearly, modesty was out the window, too.

When Apprentice was done and had his old clothes in his hands, his master said, "Now, throw those old things in there." He gestured at the dumpster.

"I have to throw them away?" Apprentice asked.

"Yes," his master replied, as though it were a stupid question.

"But can't I-?"

"No," the necromerchant said firmly.

"But-!"

"No," he repeated.

"But what if I just-?"

"What did I tell you about doing as I say, kid?" Apprentice's master demanded icily.

Apprentice fell silent.

"Throw those remnants of your old life away," his master ordered him; "it may be a fairly useless symbolic gesture, but it _is_ traditional."

"Traditional?" Apprentice repeated. "Haven't there only _been_ necromerchants for, like, fifteen years or something?"

"Eighteen," the necromerchant corrected, "but necromerchants' lifespans are typically very short, given the riskiness of the business, so there's been more than enough time for traditions to be established. Now throw those away."

Apprentice scowled. "Yes, Master," he grumbled, and he tossed his belongings in the dumpster.

"Welcome to your new life," the necromerchant said sarcastically as Apprentice's old clothes joined the trash. "It will be harder to do away with the rest of your old life than it was to be rid of those, but your old self will die in time."

"I told you once, I'll tell you again: I'll _never_ forget who I am," Apprentice said firmly, turning back to glare at him.

"You'll have to, if you ever want to be a necromerchant," his master said.

They stared off for a minute.

"Did you think I was speaking idly when I warned you that your old self would have to die?" Apprentice's master finally asked mockingly. "I wasn't. I told you the exact truth of your future as it stands, with no embellishments. I meant _everything_ I said."

Apprentice felt a chill; something about the way his master said it gave him a bad feeling. "What about when you said you'd kill me if I turned out not to be cut out for this job?" he asked faintly.

The necromerchant smiled a cruel, evil smile. "As with everything else I said, I spoke the truth," he replied wickedly. "If it turns out you can't be a necromerchant, I will have to murder you - for my own protection."

Apprentice gulped, his eyes wide, and he stumbled back a step.

"You see, Apprentice," his master went on, looking almost as though he was enjoying Apprentice's fear, "there are rules to this job, and the very first one…well, there are two parts to it: one, do not take risks; and two, do whatever it takes to not get caught…because 'caught' means 'killed'. Being a necromerchant is punishable by death, as decreed by Rotti - as you well know."

"But what does that have to do with…?" Apprentice couldn't bring himself to say it.

His master shrugged. "Turning you loose at, say, _this_ moment in time may not be a terrible risk," he said, "but before long, you'll know too much about me. I'm going to teach you things I'd rather the general public not find out, not to mention things that could get me killed. Soon, letting you go back will be too great a risk for me to take. You'll have to either complete your training, or die…for my safety."

They were both silent for another minute.

_I didn't know what I was getting into,_ Apprentice admitted to himself, but he didn't say it out loud; he knew that being a necromerchant was still the life for him, no matter the potential - or personal - cost.

"Now, kid, I'm a criminal," Apprentice's master finally said, "but as it stands right now, I'm not a killer, and I'd rather that not change. So don't fuck up. Got that?"

"Yes, Master," Apprentice said in a small voice.

"Then if there's nothing more, let's go," the necromerchant said, turning around and starting to walk away; "we're losing moonlight."

"Moonlight?" Apprentice asked, hurrying after his master.

"It's safer to raid graveyards at night," his master explained briefly, not slowing his pace.

"Does this mean you're going to teach me how to collect Zydrate now?" Apprentice asked excitedly.

The necromerchant chuckled. "Not yet, kid," he replied; "not even close."

~X~

It was a minute before Apprentice realized that he recognized the path they were taking; it was a path he had travelled that very day…as he did every day.

The graveyard looked different at night. Ironically, the only significant light sources were the searchlights that swept the ground, searching for Apprentice's master. Speaking of whom…

The necromerchant's head swiveled from side to side constantly, and he hunched down slightly to lessen his size as a potential target. His eyes were wide, his expression intense. He seemed…

"Are you…_nervous_?" Apprentice asked his master softly, unable to fully suppress a smile.

The necromerchant's head whipped around to face Apprentice briefly so that he could give him a furious glare. "Kid, if any of those guards sees one square inch of me, I'm dead," he hissed; "_yes_, I'm nervous! You should be, too!"

"They're looking for _you_, not _me_," Apprentice pointed out.

"They're looking for _anyone_!" Apprentice's master snapped, still speaking under his breath.

"They…know me," Apprentice said reluctantly; his master might as well know.

The necromerchant stopped in his tracks, then slowly turned back to face Apprentice. "What?" he asked icily.

Apprentice swallowed nervously, then lifted his head, stood up straight, and walked through the graveyard. He didn't even need to watch where he was going; he knew the path by heart. His feet took him there, almost without him willing it. In seconds, he was on his knees in front of the tombstone.

It was barely a minute before Apprentice heard his master walk up beside him.

"Is that your father, kid?" the necromerchant asked softly.

Apprentice nodded once.

There was silence for a minute.

"…Are you the one who kept putting a fresh flower on this grave every day?" Apprentice's master asked at last.

"I spent most of every day of the past eight years here," Apprentice replied. "Giving him a new flower every day was the least I could do." He turned his head to face his new master. "You noticed?" he asked.

The necromerchant nodded. "I checked every day, to see if this corpse was clear to dig up," he said; "it's common courtesy not to dig up a body that someone among the living is still close to. Had you skipped leaving a fresh flower for even one day, this corpse would be in my stock right now…but you didn't, so he isn't."

"Thank you," Apprentice said. "I mean, I think."

The necromerchant chuckled coldly. "I…admit that I did wonder who could possibly be so devoted to a dead man," he said. "I never thought I'd actually find out, though."

Apprentice nodded, unsure how to respond, then turned back to stare at his father's gravestone, and again, there was silence for a minute.

"Stand back, kid," Apprentice's master said suddenly.

"What?" Apprentice asked, looking back up at him.

"I said, stand back," the necromerchant repeated. Apprentice opened his mouth to ask why, but his master added, "Remember what I said about doing as I say."

"Oh! Yes, Master," Apprentice said quickly, and he hurriedly stood and took a step back.

The necromerchant took a step forward, so that he was standing where Apprentice had just been kneeling, and raised something he was holding in his hands. Apprentice had to look hard to realize what it was: a shovel. _Where'd _that_ come from?_ Apprentice wondered.

Suddenly, Apprentice's master quickly swung the blade of the shovel hard against the same place on the edge of the tombstone twice, once from one direction, once from the other.

_CLANG! CLANG!_

The sound of metal striking stone rang out in the graveyard, almost deafening. A small, wedge-shaped chunk broke off from the tombstone where it had been struck and flew through the air, away from Apprentice and his master.

Without a second's hesitation, the necromerchant put one arm around Apprentice, pinning the shovel against Apprentice's back, and covered Apprentice's mouth with his free hand; then, he lifted Apprentice up and dashed away into a patch of woods that stood bordering the graveyard - he was strong!

In seconds, the necromerchant was deep in the shadows, his back pressed to a tree. He peered around at the clearing in which the graveyard stood, his grip on Apprentice still uncomfortably tight, and watched as guards started swarming the area. He let out a deep breath when it was clear that no one had seen him dash off, and he released Apprentice…who turned on him immediately.

"What the fuck was that?" Apprentice demanded of his master, his voice hushed.

The necromerchant raised an eyebrow at his apprentice. "So you _can_ talk like an adult," he commented dryly; "I was beginning to wonder."

"Tell me what that was about!" Apprentice hissed. "You just damaged my father's tombstone-!"

"What I _did_," the necromerchant corrected, cutting Apprentice off, "was _mark_ his tombstone."

Apprentice blinked.

"That grave has now been marked as the grave of a necromerchant's family member," Apprentice's master told him, "and no necromerchant will desecrate it, _ever_. Your father will rest in peace for eternity."

"I…" Apprentice was shocked by the gesture; until that moment, his master had seemed so cold as to be inhuman. "Thank you," he finally managed.

The necromerchant rolled his eyes. "Don't get sentimental on me, kid," he said, cold and aloof once more; "it's custom to mark graves of necromerchants' family members, if they haven't already been desecrated. Sometimes, some necromerchants even go so far as to return the bodies of their apprentices' family members to their graves. Don't read too much into it."

Apprentice wasn't sure how to take that. "Does this mean I'm a necromerchant?" he asked instead.

His master chuckled coldly. "No," he replied; "not even close. You _are_, however, close enough for _that_."

Apprentice looked past his master at the commotion the marking had caused. "You took a risk to do that," he said. "I thought the first part of the first rule of the business was to not take risks?"

"The five rules may be bent on occasion, if the reason is strong and valid enough," the necromerchant said with a shrug. "Ideally, it should be avoided, but sometimes it's okay."

"There are five rules?" Apprentice asked.

"Five rules and one Absolute Law," the necromerchant replied, nodding.

"What are they?" Apprentice asked.

His master tilted his head, as though considering the question. "If I told you now, you might not remember," he finally answered; "I'll tell you as you see them demonstrated - they should be memorable, then."

Something about the way his master said it gave Apprentice a bad feeling, but he didn't comment on it.

They were both silent for a minute, watching the swarm of guards disperse as they gave up, finding no trace of the two criminals.

"Come on, kid," the necromerchant finally said; "we'll have to raid a different graveyard, and we really _are_ losing moonlight."

"Yes, Master," Apprentice said; "lead the way."

The necromerchant walked through the woods, still carrying the shovel he had gotten somewhere, and Apprentice followed.

~X~

They arrived in another graveyard a few minutes later; Apprentice's master apparently had the exact locations of all the local graveyards memorized and permanently oriented around him in his mind. Ironically, this new graveyard was less guarded.

"Why didn't we just come here the first time?" Apprentice asked his master, confused.

"I came here last night," his master replied; "I need to rotate graveyards each night, to give people time to bury more bodies for me to dig up. There should still be a couple untouched ones here, though."

"Why does dealing Zydrate involve digging up graves, anyway?" Apprentice asked in a whisper as they crept through the graveyard.

"You'll learn that later in your training," the necromerchant replied. "For now, let's just say that the true identity of Zydrate isn't exactly charming."

Apprentice accepted this without a word; there was something about creeping through a graveyard at night that almost felt like it _demanded_ silence.

The necromerchant held out his arm, halting Apprentice in front of a grave that, to Apprentice, didn't appear to be particularly different from any of the ones they had already passed.

The necromerchant glanced around quickly, then turned to his apprentice. "This one's untouched," he said.

"How can you tell?" Apprentice asked.

"I haven't dug here," his master replied, his tone and expression not leaving room for questions. He held out the shovel he was carrying to Apprentice. "Here," he said.

Apprentice took it.

"Now, make yourself useful, and dig," his master ordered him. "You haven't trained your eyes and ears yet, so I don't trust you to watch out for guards, so I'll be on lookout while you dig."

"Yes, Master," Apprentice said.

His master nodded, then turned to look around.

Apprentice faced the dirt, shovel in hand. It felt so wrong - grave desecration was a terrible sin. Still, he had _known_ that this was part of the job - it was the very reason _why_ he'd taken the job, since Rotti had outlawed it. But still…

Apprentice took a breath, closed his eyes, and quickly started crossing himself, reciting a prayer in his head. Halfway to his left shoulder, however, a hand caught his wrist.

"What do you think you're doing?" Apprentice's master demanded in a low voice.

Apprentice opened his eyes to face him. "I was just…" He trailed off, seeing the anger and disgust in his master's eyes.

"Just what?" the necromerchant growled.

Apprentice gulped. "Well, you see, I…I'm a Christian," he said.

His master blinked. "You're a _what_?" he exclaimed, clearly struggling now to keep his voice low.

"I'm a Christian," Apprentice repeated. "You know, Christianity - it's a religion."

"Religion is a dead concept!" his master spat.

Apprentice shook his head. "Not to me," he said firmly.

The necromerchant blinked a few more times, apparently stunned. "I knew there was something different about you," he finally muttered. He sighed. "Look, kid, whatever religion you may have belonged to in your old life, you have to let it go now. Your old life is over, as is everything in it."

"But-!"

"But nothing!" Apprentice's master snapped. "Whatever you may have been in your old life is _dead_ - end of story! Now quit fucking around and dig, _Apprentice_! We're losing moonlight!"

Apprentice met his master's eyes for a few seconds, then conceded. "Yes, Master," he said, and he drove the shovel into the ground. As he dug, his master shook his head and chuckled.

"Christianity," he muttered under his breath, turning back to watch out for guards. "Of all the religions to come into this business claiming to belong to…"

Apprentice said nothing; digging took all his strength. In his mind, however, he had to concede the point; it _was_ an ironic religion for a necromerchant to follow. There was a reason he'd chosen it, though…

It was a good ten minutes before Apprentice was done digging up the coffin.

"Finally," his master muttered when he told him he was done. "Have you ever done a day's work before in your _life_?"

"No," Apprentice admitted; his arms were very sore, he was sweating heavily, and his breath was coming hard.

The necromerchant shook his head, took the shovel, and jammed it into the lid of the wooden coffin. "I guess it's just as well we started here," he said; "anywhere else, and we'd have been caught before you made much more than a dent in the ground." He pressed down on the handle, and the nails in the coffin popped as the lid opened; he barely even gave a slight grunt of effort.

"If I…work with you…long enough," Apprentice panted, "will I…become…as strong…as you?"

"Kid, if you can't even dig up a single grave without looking like you're about to fall over when you're done, I honestly don't know if you can _ever_ be as strong as me," his master replied; "it may turn out that your genes simply won't allow it."

"I'll work hard," Apprentice promised breathlessly, sitting down and closing his eyes. "I've just…never worked before…is all. I can get strong."

"We'll see," his master muttered.

"How do you do this on your own, anyway?" Apprentice asked, too tired to watch as his master harvested Zydrate from the body he'd just dug up.

"My senses are keen enough to keep me safe," the necromerchant replied; "I had to train them for two full years before _my_ master was satisfied - and you'll have to train yours, too - but I can sense a guard creeping up on me long before he even sees me, even if I'm in the middle of digging up a grave."

"If you didn't need me…to do any of the work…then why did you make me?" Apprentice asked, still catching his breath.

"Two reasons," his master replied: "One, you need the practice - as is obvious by your clear lack of physical strength."

"And two?" Apprentice asked, still too exhausted to open his eyes, never mind take offense to the slight.

"Two," his master said, "if I didn't make you do anything, you would have just been dead weight…though since you're so weak, you basically are either way."

"It won't stay that way," Apprentice promised. "I'll get stronger, Master, you have my word."

"It would be hard for you to get much _weaker_," his master grumbled. "Come on, kid, I'm done with this one."

Apprentice opened his eyes to see him holding up a little glass vial of glowing blue liquid.

"Is that it?" he asked, standing up and walking over to his master to get a closer look.

"This is Zydrate," his master confirmed as Apprentice jumped down into the shallow hole.

"It's pretty," Apprentice said, staring at it, transfixed; it really _was_ a pretty substance…

His master chuckled wickedly. "If you knew what it was, you wouldn't think so," he commented, and he stuck the vial in a loop in his belt.

"What's it feel like?" Apprentice asked. "To be injected with it, I mean? I mean, I know it's addictive…"

"Keep wondering, kid," the necromerchant told him sternly; "or better yet, don't even do that. You'll never know."

"Why not?" asked Apprentice.

"Because the Absolute Law of being a necromerchant is, 'A necromerchant may never, _ever_, inject him- or herself with Zydrate,'" the necromerchant replied; "and unlike the five rules, the Absolute Law is inflexible."

Apprentice blinked. "That seems like an odd rule to make more rigid than all the others," he commented.

"Does it?" his master asked, raising an eyebrow. "Since we can get all we want, and since it's so addictive, if we took it, we'd probably overdose in no time - if that's possible, though no one knows for sure if it is. Even if it's not, we'd use up all of our own stock on ourselves."

"Oh," Apprentice said; "that makes sense."

"I'm glad you think so," the necromerchant said shortly. "Now come on, fill this hole back in; I'm not going to lug two loads of dead weight around tonight, so whoever this is gets a little reprieve."

"_Two_ loads?" Apprentice asked as his master climbed out of the hole.

The necromerchant gave him a nastily meaningful look.

Apprentice felt himself blush. "Oh," he said.

"Hurry up, kid," Apprentice's master spat; "we've been in one place a lot too long for my liking as it is."

"Any guards there might be around here will be looking for _you_, not _me_," Apprentice grumbled, picking up the shovel again, even though he'd only just managed to catch his breath; "since you're not doing any work, there's no reason for _you_ to stay here. Isn't the first part of the first rule, 'Do not take risks'?"

"You're my apprentice, and that makes you my responsibility, sadly," the necromerchant said. "I would happily leave you behind if I could, but I can't."

"Gee, thanks," Apprentice muttered, shoveling dirt back over the violated coffin.

"Don't expect any more from me," his master stated icily.

Apprentice didn't bother wasting his breath with a reply.

The necromerchant sighed angrily. "You've cost me most of the night," he told Apprentice; "I won't be able to draw any more Zydrate. Good thing I have a backup stock, or I'd go out of business before sunset tomorrow."

Apprentice still said nothing; already, his meager muscles were burning again with the unaccustomed exertion of physical labor, and he didn't have the breath or the energy to waste. Besides, he got the feeling his master was deliberately trying to goad him, and he had no intention of failing any sort of test.

"…Christianity, huh?" his master went on after a minute, his tone softening ever-so-slightly. "Does that mean you have a moral compass?"

Apprentice nodded once, not caring if his master noticed the slight movement or not.

"That's a rare thing to have in this world," the necromerchant commented. "A dangerous thing, even. It's a shame you're going to have to throw it away for this."

"No I won't," Apprentice said softly, still working.

"Strange, really, that you seem so determined to become a necromerchant," his master continued. "As a moral Christian, it's just…odd, that you'd choose a life of sin."

"This life chose _me_, the day GeneCo murdered my father," Apprentice said. "Rotti is the devil incarnate, and I live to spite him. Anything to that end can't truly be called a sin."

"I think you'll be surprised," Apprentice's master said darkly.

Apprentice ignored him; thinking about GeneCo, Rotti, and his father filled him with rage, and he found that that rage was a good substitute for physical strength - at the very least, it kept him going. He filled in the hole in less than half the time it had taken him to dig it.

"Come on, kid," his master said when he was done; "let's get out of here already." He took the shovel out of Apprentice's hands and dashed off before Apprentice could even say another word.

Apprentice ran after him as fast as he could, but he was exhausted as it was. He didn't dare call for his master to wait, though; security in that particular graveyard may have been low, but the occasional searchlight served to remind him that making any loud noise would still probably get him killed.

He caught up with his master just as they re-entered the city limits. Actually, to be more precise, he found his master waiting for him just inside the city, the shovel apparently having been ditched somewhere along the way. Apprentice stopped in front of him and doubled over, bracing his hands on his knees, and gasped for breath.

The necromerchant shook his head. "Pathetic," he spat. "Can't you even keep up?"

"I'm not…used to this," Apprentice gasped. "Just give me…some time…"

"Time is _everything_ in this business, kid," his master retorted, "and any necromerchant considers him- or herself lucky if he or she finds even a few minutes of it to waste on a _good_ day. You don't _have_ time."

Apprentice struggled hard to catch his breath for a minute.

"Thanks for waiting for me," he finally managed.

"Sarcasm, kid?" his master asked, raising an eyebrow.

Apprentice shook his head. "No, Master," he replied; "you stopped here to wait for me. Thank you."

The necromerchant chuckled and shook his head slightly. "You're something else, I'll give you that," he said, his tone indecipherable. "Come on." He turned and started walking away.

Apprentice followed.

They walked in silence for a minute.

"Do you really believe in God, kid?" Apprentice's master asked him suddenly.

Apprentice blinked. "Yes," he replied.

His master glanced back at him. "Why?" he asked coldly.

"What do you mean?" asked Apprentice, confused.

The necromerchant paused and spread his arms in an all-encompassing gesture. "Well, look around you," he said.

Apprentice knew it was a rhetorical statement, but he did so anyway - and he didn't like what he saw. He saw dirty buildings, a dirty alley, and dirty walls, all papered with advertisements promoting GeneCo and the concept of surgery as a fashion statement, and painted with graffiti about sex, surgery, and organ repossession.

"You have a moral compass," Apprentice's master said; "you see the world's fucked up beyond repair, surely? Tell me: What 'god' drove us to this?"

"God didn't do this," Apprentice said; "Rotti did."

"If God exists, He let this happen," the necromerchant pointed out.

"God gave people the free will to believe and follow who and what they want," Apprentice said defensively.

"Free will?" the necromerchant repeated mockingly. "You mean that thing Rotti's been trying to do away with ever since GeneCo rose to power?" He laughed cruelly. "Come on, kid," he said; "what 'god' would let things go to shit like this?"

Apprentice didn't answer. It was strange - and surely, it was a coincidence - but the truth was, he'd had this exact same argument with himself, many times.

"There's a specific reason I chose to become a Christian," he finally told his master. "You see-"

"I don't care what your reason was, kid," the necromerchant said bluntly, cutting him off; "your religion is illogical, pointless, and most importantly, _over_. You need to leave it behind now. It doesn't matter why you joined it in the first place."

"Yes, Master," Apprentice sighed as they resumed walking - unaware that, in the case of that last point, his master would turn out to be very, _very_ wrong.

~X~

A few minutes later, the necromerchant stopped in front of another dumpster in a blind alley and opened it.

"In you go, kid," he said, turning back to face Apprentice.

"Again with this?" Apprentice asked, exasperated.

"Aren't you tired?" his master asked sarcastically.

Apprentice blinked; he was, but what did that have to do with anything?

"Oh, I'm sorry," the necromerchant sneered after a moment, cruel sarcasm dripping from his voice; "are you used to sleeping in a nice comfy bed?"

"Um…sort of, yes," Apprentice replied slowly.

His master's expression hardened. "Too fucking bad," he spat. "The only beds you'll ever have again are dumpsters, until you get your coffin. That's part of this job."

"Why?" Apprentice asked.

"Like I told you, the only people who look through dumpsters are the most desperate of Zydrate junkies," his master explained, his tone still mocking and cold. "In other words, if we sleep in dumpsters, the only people who'll find us and interrupt our sleep are people looking to do business with us - and that's _always_ a welcome interruption. Other than that, we'll be left alone; and, more importantly, we'll be _safe_. That's what matters. Now _get in there_." he commanded.

Apprentice sighed. "Yes, Master," he grumbled, and he vaulted into the dumpster.

"By the way, you now _officially_ know me too well for me to risk letting you go," his master said. "Congratulations, you now have only two choices: finish your training, or die."

"Thought I had to die anyway," Apprentice muttered.

His master chuckled coldly. "You know what I mean," he said.

Apprentice settled among the trash bags; he really _was_ tired. For some reason, though, his master didn't slam the lid on him. After a minute, he opened his eyes to see his master still staring down at him.

"What do you think you're doing, kid?" his master finally asked him, raising an eyebrow. "Move over. I'm tired, too."

"What?" Apprentice asked, sitting up. "No! Get your own dumpster!"

His master's eyes narrowed dangerously, and a lethal glint appeared in his eyes. "What did you say to me?" he snarled softly.

Apprentice gulped; the necromerchant looked very capable of murder at that moment. "Nothing, Master, I'm sorry!" he said quickly, and he scrambled to the other side of the dumpster to make room.

"You'd better be," his master muttered under his breath before climbing into the dumpster and closing the lid behind him, leaving the two of them in total darkness.

Quickly, Apprentice scrambled to get a trash bag or two between him and his master, not turning his head even slightly. He couldn't see a thing, but he still stared intently at the last spot he had seen the necromerchant, his eyes wide.

"Get some sleep, Apprentice," said his master's voice; "you have a very unpleasant day ahead of you, I can guarantee you that."

Apprentice didn't relax even slightly.

His master's cold chuckle echoed in the metal bin. "What do you think I'm going to do to you, kid?" he asked sarcastically. "Rape you? Please. What kind of man do you think I am?"

"Why do we have to sleep in the same dumpster?" Apprentice countered, his voice - to his eternal shame - shaking slightly.

His master laughed. "Oh, you poor, naive kid," he chuckled; "and here I thought you trusted me."

"No offense, Master, but why _should_ I trust you?" Apprentice asked.

"Because I'm all you've got," his master replied matter-of-factly. "I'm your master, you're _my_ responsibility, and you need to trust me, because I can guarantee you that I will be the last person you will _ever_ be able to safely trust. You have my word that I mean you no harm, nor do I have any intention of violating you in any way," he added, sounding unusually honest.

"That still doesn't explain why we have to sleep in the same dumpster," Apprentice pointed out, still not letting his guard down.

His master sighed. "It's for your own safety," he explained. "As I said, desperate junkies look through dumpsters for me - if they found _you_…well, there's no telling for sure what they'd do, but when they get to be that desperate, they become…shall we say, unpredictable?" He laughed evilly. "As I said, you're my responsibility," he went on; "if any junkies find us, I'll give them what they're after and send them on their way, and you won't be in any danger."

Apprentice said nothing. He was very tired, but he was also had his doubts about his master's _sanity_, never mind trustworthiness…

His master sighed again. "Look, kid, I'm tired too," he said again; "I haven't slept in about twenty hours, and the last time I slept was only for about forty-five minutes. I couldn't do anything to you right now even if I wanted to. I'm going to sleep; I suggest you do the same."

Apprentice held his ground for a moment, then sighed and gave in. "Yes, Master," he said, and he allowed himself to relax.

"Oh, kid, one more thing," the necromerchant said suddenly.

Apprentice jolted himself back into a defensive position.

He heard his master move. "How many fingers am I holding up?" he asked.

"Huh?" Apprentice asked, confused.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" his master repeated.

"How should I know?" Apprentice asked. "It's pitch black in here."

"I can see _you_ just fine," his master said. "Remember how I told you you'd have to train your eyes and ears? This is part of your training."

"There's a fine line between 'train' and 'strain' in cases like this," Apprentice commented.

"Well, tread it carefully," his master said.

Apprentice tried to see his master in the nonexistent light, then gave up. "I can't tell," he said.

"Obviously," his master said; "I put my hand down five seconds ago."

Apprentice blushed, and prayed that the darkness was at least enough to hide _that_ much from his master.

Based on his master's chuckle, he guessed it wasn't.

"Get some sleep, Apprentice," the necromerchant said.

"Yes, Master," Apprentice said; "good night."

His master laughed coldly. "Kid, I haven't had a good night - of _any_ kind - in years," he said, "and if _you're_ expecting to _ever_ have a good night again, you've got something else coming."

"Yes, Master," Apprentice said, unsure how else to respond. He relaxed, and as he drifted off to sleep, he once again heard the sound of hammers pounding on coffin nails. Tonight, however, the echoed sound was mixed with another one: that of a shovel chipping off a piece of a tombstone.


	4. Apprenticeship, Part 2

When Apprentice woke up, all his muscles were stiff and sore, and he had a pounding headache that originated in the back of his skull. He groaned and moved to rub the throbbing spot, and when his hand touched it, pain lanced through his body; it was only then that he remembered how he'd hit his head the previous evening.

"Get up, kid," he heard his master say unfeelingly; "you've overslept as it is."

Apprentice groaned again, but he opened his eyes and forced his cramped muscles to move, struggling out of the trash, out of the dumpster, and ungracefully onto the street. He stood up, one hand on the dumpster to steady himself, and looked up at his master.

"How are you feeling?" his master asked him with a cold, cruel smile.

"Horrible," he groaned.

"Too bad," his master said, sounding almost as though he enjoyed his apprentice's misery. His wicked smile widened. "Today, kid, you learn the less tasteful parts of this job - and you're going to have to set aside the pain you're in right now…or else."

"Or else what?" Apprentice asked wearily.

"Or else I'll refuse to train you further," his master replied; "and you know what that means…" He trailed off in an almost singsong voice.

_Death._

Like Apprentice could ever forget.

He gritted his teeth and forced himself to stand up straight, taking his hand off the dumpster.

The necromerchant raised an eyebrow. "Not bad," he said, though his tone made it clear that he was completely unimpressed.

Apprentice nodded. "How long was I asleep?" he asked.

His master shrugged. "Four and a half hours, give or take about fifteen minutes," he replied.

_Four and a half hours!_ No wonder he felt like shit!

"Now, before we get started, I have a few questions for you," Apprentice's master said. "First, what's your name?"

Apprentice blinked, surprised by the question. He opened his mouth to answer.

"Think," the necromerchant interrupted in a dangerous tone of voice, "_very carefully_, before you answer."

Apprentice closed his mouth and thought. What was it his master had said when he'd first accepted him as his apprentice? _"From now until you complete your training, your name - your _only_ name - is…"_

"Apprentice," Apprentice answered.

His master smiled and nodded. "Very good," he said. "Do you remember what your old name was?"

"Yes," Apprentice replied.

His master nodded again. "I suppose it would be unreasonable of me to expect anything different so early in your training," he said.

Apprentice could think of several things he could say about his master and the concept of being 'unreasonable', but he held his tongue.

"Now," Apprentice's master said, resuming what was turning out to be a pop quiz, "how many junkies came and found me last night?"

Apprentice blinked. "I don't know," he replied. "None?"

His master rolled his eyes. "_Three_," he corrected. "Did you _really_ sleep through _all_ of them?"

"Yes," Apprentice replied.

"You're going to have to learn not to sleep so heavily," his master told him; "if you can't be a light sleeper, you can't do this job."

_So much for trying not to be unreasonable,_ Apprentice thought, but again he held his tongue, and he simply nodded.

"What rules of this business do you know so far?" his master continued to quiz.

"I know that the Absolute Law of being a necromerchant is that a necromerchant may never, _ever_, inject him- or herself with Zydrate," Apprentice recited. "I know that the first of the five more flexible rules of the business has two parts: one, do not take risks, and two, do whatever it takes to not get caught. I know that necromerchants have to completely let go of whatever lives they had before they became necromerchants, though I'm still not quite sure why. I know that being a necromerchant is a 24-hour job, and that they need to take whatever opportunity they can to sleep. I know that necromerchants sleep in dumpsters, because the only people who will find them there are desperate junkies, so it's safe to rest in them. I know that necromerchants have to rotate what graveyards they raid each night, so that there are plenty of bodies to dig up in a single run without having to change graveyards. I know how to mark a gravestone as belonging to the family of a necromerchant, so that no necromerchant will ever desecrate the grave. I know that necromerchants have to be strong and have keen senses. And I don't know nearly as much as I wish I did." As Apprentice spoke, his master's eyebrows raised; clearly, he hadn't expected half so detailed an answer.

There was silence for a moment; the necromerchant almost seemed stunned.

"You know what, Apprentice?" he finally said. "There may be hope for you yet."

"I was born to do this," Apprentice said firmly; "as I said, this life chose me. I'll do whatever it takes. I'm willing to put all my time and energy towards learning to do this job. It's what I'm meant to do."

"You're determined," the necromerchant noted; "that will take you far. Whether or not it will take you all the way remains to be seen, but it's a start. Also, for the record, the reason you have to let your old life go is because this business is so risky - you can't take the risk of being traceable."

Apprentice nodded, accepting this explanation. "That makes sense…and, also for the record, my determination _will_ take me all the way," he added. It certainly seemed true to him at the time; his head and muscles were in agony, but he was able to deny the pain and stand strong.

An evil smile spread across his master's face. "Let's put that to the test," he said wickedly, and he turned and started walking through the city.

Apprentice followed him.

~X~

As it turned out, the daytime part of the job consisted entirely of something Apprentice was already vaguely familiar with - it was how he'd found his master in the first place.

"Necromerchants spend days standing by secluded alleys that lead away from busy areas," the necromerchant told his apprentice, stopping halfway down a back alley. "I'm sure you know the rest, since you performed the ritual flawlessly yesterday afternoon, but I'll tell you again anyway for the record, since you won't remember where you first heard it by the time you're done - _if_ you complete your training."

Apprentice didn't comment out loud, but he retained his doubt that he could even possibly ever forget his old life. He also didn't bother acknowledging the possibility of his training ending in death by the hand of his own master.

"Most people deliberately avoid eye contact with necromerchants," Apprentice's master went on. "They'll try not to look at us at all. A junkie who wants to deal with us, on the other hand, will try to catch our eye. As soon as we notice them, we turn around immediately and head down the escape route we're waiting by. The junkie counts to five in his or her head, then hurries after us, calling for us to wait. They try not to catch up to us until the crowded area is completely left behind, and no one can see the transaction. Upon catching up with us, they say the code phrase, for additional protection: 'Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else.' The deal is then led by the junkie, as discretely or directly as he or she sees fit. After the trade is made, the junkie returns to the crowd as discretely as possible, and we go to a different spot. Simple."

"Yeah," Apprentice said, "right. Simple."

The necromerchant raised an eyebrow at him. "Sarcasm, kid?" he asked.

Apprentice shrugged. "It's a mighty fine system," he said. "I'm not sure if 'complicated' is the right word, but I wouldn't call it 'simple', either. Careful, I guess I'd say. Careful and efficient. It's touchy, but it works."

"That it does," Apprentice's master said in an indecipherable tone of voice; "and very well, at that."

"So where do _I_ fit in?" Apprentice asked. "What should _I_ do?"

"_You_ can stay back here, where no one will see you," his master replied. "One of this city's dealing spots is just up ahead. Wait here; you'll be able to see the part that matters."

"Yes, Master," Apprentice said, and he leaned against the alley wall to wait.

His master nodded at him once, then went on ahead.

There was silence for a while, and Apprentice was left alone with his thoughts. He didn't worry about not being able to become a necromerchant - it didn't matter what it would take, he'd do it. What concerned him was his master's insistence that he forget his old life entirely. It just wasn't possible, in Apprentice's mind. Sure, there were times when he _wished_ he could, but if he did, what would keep him determined to be a necromerchant? Nothing…

After a few minutes, his thoughts turned to his mother. He hadn't told her where he was going; she was probably worried about him. His master had told him that he would never be able to say goodbye to her, but he couldn't help but wonder…what would she do without him? Would she ever find out that he was okay, that he had left by choice? Would she ever forgive him? He wanted to see her…to tell her that he was okay…to let her know that he was living his life as he wanted to…

Suddenly, the sound of heavy footsteps startled him from his reverie. He looked up, and saw his master walking quickly towards him. A moment later, he saw a girl running up behind his master, catching the necromerchant's arm not two feet away from where Apprentice was waiting.

"Hey, wait!" she exclaimed.

The necromerchant turned back to her.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else," she said with a smile; there was something about her tone that made Apprentice want to gag.

"That's okay," the necromerchant replied, giving her a strangely friendly smile in return.

Apprentice stepped forward and took a closer look at the girl. She wasn't pretty; her brown hair was in a ponytail that stuck out at an odd angle, and her clothes showed far too much skin. Her face was plain under unattractively heavy makeup and eyeliner, and the rest of her skin, though smooth, was so pale it was almost sickly.

Her unnaturally green eyes (which, Apprentice realized, were probably _literally_ unnatural) widened as they turned from the necromerchant to Apprentice. "Who are you?" she asked.

"This is my apprentice," the necromerchant told her, widening his strange smile slightly. "You don't have to worry about him."

"Your apprentice, huh?" she asked, walking past the necromerchant and getting uncomfortably close to Apprentice. "What's your name, kiddo?" she asked him, giving him a nasty smile that he didn't quite know how to interpret, but which still made him nauseous.

"Just Apprentice," he said, taking a step back.

She gave a strange giggle, stepping closer to him as though not even realizing that she repulsed him. Then, incredibly, she raised her hand and touched his cheek.

Apprentice felt his face get hot, and he knew he'd turned a bright red. He pushed her away. "Don't touch me," he growled.

She laughed. "Aww, look at him," she said teasingly, walking back over to the necromerchant until they couldn't have been closer without touching; "he's so cute! Where'd you find him, Graverobber?"

Apprentice's master shrugged. "_He_ found _me_," he replied; "I'm not entirely sure where he's from. Now then…" He touched the girl's arm lightly. "Was there something you wanted from me?" he asked her, looking at her with a strange glint in his eyes.

She giggled. "You really are a greedy bastard, aren't you?" she teased, meeting his gaze.

"And proud of it," he said, mirroring her nasty smile.

Apprentice wanted very much to puke. He wasn't oblivious to what was going on, and what he knew sickened him: They were _flirting_!

The girl rolled her eyes, still smiling teasingly, then pulled out some money. Apprentice's master pulled a vial of Zydrate out of his belt, and they traded.

"Thank you," she said with a nasty smile. She turned to Apprentice. "It was nice to meet you, kiddo," she said nastily.

"I wish I could say the same about you," Apprentice said, his attempt at not openly displaying his revulsion resulting in a toneless voice.

Out of the corner of his eye, Apprentice saw his master stiffen. The girl blinked, looking surprised and slightly hurt. Apprentice glanced at his master, and was frightened to see him giving him a wrathful glare.

The necromerchant closed his eyes and took a breath.

"Don't mind him," he said to the girl in a brittle tone of voice; "he's new. You have what you wanted. Now, would you kindly excuse us…_please_, my dear?" he added, clearly trying to undo the effects of Apprentice's relative rudeness.

"Oh…okay," the girl said slowly. She looked back at the necromerchant and gave him another nasty smile. "See you around, Graverobber," she said, and she walked away.

The necromerchant watched her go, then turned to his apprentice, who realized a second too late that he was in trouble. Before he could do more than blink, Apprentice found himself slammed hard against the wall of the alley, his master gripping him uncomfortably tightly by the throat.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" his master snarled furiously. "Why in the _hell_ did you say that to her?"

"Well, she was disgusting!" Apprentice choked in reply.

"News flash, kid," his master spat: "They're _all_ like that! _That_ one was actually relatively attractive!"

"You can't have actually _liked_ her!" Apprentice exclaimed, struggling slightly to remain conscious; he'd hit his head against the wall in the same spot as he'd hit it on the ground the previous evening, and the pain was blinding.

"Of course not!" his master snapped. "They _repulse_ me, each and every one of them! But I can't let them know that, because that's how this job works! Rule number two of the business: _Never_ antagonize the customer! _Ever_! You got that, kid?"

"Oh, come on, how could I have known that?" Apprentice cried. "You didn't tell me!"

"You could have followed my lead, if you'd had any sense!" his master snarled, tightening his grip on his apprentice's throat.

"I'm sorry!" Apprentice gasped, fearful for his life. "It won't happen again, I promise!"

"It better not," his master growled, and he released his grip without warning.

Apprentice stumbled, unable to land on his feet properly due to the pain in his abused head.

"Slow reflexes," his master observed icily; "that's not good. You'll have to be quicker than that."

Apprentice let out a cry of frustration. "I'm weak, I'm slow, my senses aren't strong enough, I'm naive, I follow a stupid religion, I sleep too heavily, I can't read your fucking _mind_, and now my reflexes are poor! Is there anything about me you _don't_ hate?" he demanded of the necromerchant.

His master lifted one eyebrow at him coolly. "There is one thing," he replied; "just one: your determination. _That_, I admire. Given everything else about you, though, it's hardly worth shit."

"I _will_ become a necromerchant," Apprentice said in a low, firm voice. "I _will_."

"Well, _one_ thing's for sure," his master said mockingly; "either you will, or you'll die trying."

"I plan to go on living," Apprentice retorted.

"Then smarten up," his master spat. "You're lucky she thought you were cute until the end there, or I would have punished you severely."

"You've hit my head - hard! - in the same place twice, and you choked me!" Apprentice exclaimed. "That's not punishment?"

"Oh, trust me," his master said darkly; "I could easily have done _much_ worse."

Apprentice gulped; he suddenly remembered just how strong his master was, and there was no doubt that a full-blown beating from him would be excruciating, even dangerous.

"Now," his master said dangerously, "if you're done whining, I have a business to run."

Apprentice swallowed again. "Yes, Master," he said.

The necromerchant turned and started walking to another daytime dealing spot. Apprentice followed him, still slightly in shock.

~X~

The day proceeded, and Apprentice discovered that his master was right: All junkies were as gross as the first, if not more so. It almost seemed like a _rule_. It crossed Apprentice's mind that it was slightly ironic that people so addicted to trying to surgically perfect their bodies would all turn out to be so ugly. He tried to suppress his revulsion at them and their overly sexual behavior as best as he could, and his master seemed satisfied enough with his attempts to not hurt him again, but it seemed to Apprentice like it was a losing battle. Once or twice, there was a male junkie, and mercifully, they didn't flirt with Apprentice's master like the women always did; however, there was still something off about them that made the hairs on the back of Apprentice's neck stand up, though he couldn't quite place it.

Towards the end of the day, one especially twitchy woman with short, curly black hair, tan skin, and hazel eyes came after Apprentice's master down the alley, then started raving.

"I can't take it anymore!" she exclaimed. "Please, I need a hit _now_!"

"Pay up, and I'll give you one," Apprentice's master told her coolly.

The woman shook her head wildly. "No, it can't wait!" she wailed. "It hurts too much! I can't…I can't…!"

The necromerchant pulled out a vial of Zydrate and held it up to her. "Do you want this or not?" he asked her unpityingly.

"Yes!" the woman gasped, and she grabbed for it, but Apprentice's master pulled it out of her reach.

"Then pay me," he said coldly.

This was not at all how any of the other transactions of the day had gone, and Apprentice was confused.

"Master?" he said questioningly.

"Not now, kid," his master shot at him.

"Please!" the woman sobbed, apparently oblivious to Apprentice's presence. "Please, just give it to me! I'll pay you when it stops hurting!"

"If you want the pain to stop, you'll have to pay me first," the necromerchant stated. "Arguing about it will only prolong your suffering, so pay up _now_."

The woman whimpered, then struggled to open her purse. Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely hold it open. She seemed utterly helpless. Unable to bear the sight, Apprentice stepped forward to help her. When his master didn't stop him, he gently eased the woman's purse out of her hands and looked through it for the money - his master had told him the cost earlier that day, so he took only what was needed and not a bit more, then handed her purse back to her as gently as he had taken it.

He gave the money to his master. His master took it, then gave the vial to the woman. The woman took hold of it with shaking hands…and dropped it.

Quick as a flash, the necromerchant caught the little glass vial before it shattered on the ground, glaring at her.

"I'm sorry!" she whimpered, reaching for it again.

The necromerchant rolled his eyes. "Oh, here," he said exasperatedly, and he pulled out a gun. Before Apprentice could flinch, his master snapped the vial into place on the device, pressed the head of the gun against the woman's bare arm, and pulled the trigger.

Her eyes rolled back in her head. "Ohh," she groaned, and she collapsed to the ground. Alarmed, Apprentice stepped forward to catch her, but his master caught his arm.

"She'll be fine," he told him, putting the gun away. "Come on, kid, let's go."

"We're just going to leave her here?" Apprentice asked.

His master was already walking away from the woman on the ground. "She'll be fine," he repeated.

Apprentice hurried after his master, but still argued. "It's not right to just leave her on the ground like that," he said.

"She's not our problem, kid," his master told him; "not now that the deal's done. She'll be okay. Once the counter-shock wears off, she'll be able to get herself home, or wherever it is she wants to go."

"Counter-shock?" Apprentice asked.

"She was off Zydrate for too long," the necromerchant explained; "she tried to get clean. Unfortunately, she did it wrong. Not many people know how to do it, so I had a feeling she'd come crawling back sooner or later. When you try to just take yourself off it the way she did, the pain it was originally used to negate returns, then gets magnified. You saw the way she was shaking? The pain spreads until you take Zydrate again; I'm told it's like being boiled in acid. When you take Zydrate again, the pain vanishes instantly; unfortunately, by then, your body's also sort of _used_ to excruciating pain, so when it's suddenly gone, your body goes into a type of shock. It wears off quickly."

"That's awful," Apprentice said softly.

His master shrugged. "It's not our problem," he stated coldly.

"What's the right way to get clean?" Apprentice asked, curious.

His master just shrugged again. "Don't know, don't care," he said; "again, it's not our problem. People don't do it, so _we_ don't go out of business."

Apprentice caught his master's arm, stopping him. "Are you _really_ this heartless?" he demanded.

His master raised an eyebrow at him coolly. "Do _you_ really _care_ about these people?" he asked in reply.

"They're human beings Rotti poisoned," Apprentice said; "sure, they're gross, but that's not really their fault. If they want to break free…"

"It's not our problem," the necromerchant stated firmly. "They don't _have_ to come to us; but they do, and it's how we make a living. That's just how it is." And with that, he pulled out of Apprentice's grip and kept walking. After a moment, Apprentice hurried after him.

"Why didn't you just give her the Zydrate, though?" he asked. "I mean, she was so desperate…would it really have been so wrong to give her the stuff before she paid?"

His master stopped again and turned to him with a wicked smile. "I'm _very_ glad you asked, Apprentice," he said. "Rule number three of our business: _Never_ give the customer Zydrate without being paid first." He tilted his head. "I must say, I didn't think you'd learn that rule _this_ way," he mused; "I expected you to learn it with number four, since they go…hand-in-hand." He laughed nastily.

"What's number four?" asked Apprentice, getting the feeling that he very much did not want to know.

"Oh, you'll see," his master said nastily. "Rule number four is _fun_."

"I'll just bet," Apprentice muttered as they started walking again.

There was silence between them for a minute.

"Hey, what was that thing, anyway?" Apprentice asked. "That thing you used on her?"

His master raised an eyebrow at him. "It's a Zydrate gun," he replied; "wasn't that obvious?"

Apprentice blushed but said nothing.

~X~

Apprentice attended the Z gathering with his master that night. As it turned out, a "Z gathering" was simply a gathering of all the local junkies, to all deal with Apprentice's master at the same time, in a given place. Apprentice recognized most of the attendants, and even apologized to the girl he'd been relatively rude to before (though his apology was completely insincere).

In a herd, the women were all but unbearable. Apprentice realized that his master hadn't been kidding the previous night when he'd said that they would tear him apart - it was all he could do not to get buried under a swarm of them, though why they seemed so intent on flirting outrageously with _him_ was beyond his understanding, since he wasn't the one who dealt the Zydrate. It almost seemed like it was a game to them. Apprentice was very glad when the Z gathering ended.

Afterwards, he went out raiding graves with his master again, and again, he was the one to dig. His muscles protested strongly against the abuse, and he actually collapsed halfway through the second hole, shaking, physically unable to go on.

Needless to say, his master was unimpressed. Instead of pushing him to keep digging, however, he picked him up and quickly carried him somewhere out of the range of where the guards searched, then went back and finished the raid on his own.

Right before he was left behind, Apprentice thought he heard his master say something like, "Don't die on me, kid." Of course, it could easily have been his imagination, or even just wishful thinking…

Then he passed out.

~X~

When Apprentice woke up, it was pitch black. He started to sit up, but firm hands pressed down on his shoulders before he rose even a couple of inches.

"Whoa, whoa, careful, kid!" he heard his master say quickly. "You'll hurt yourself."

Apprentice struggled mindlessly for a minute, then realized that he was in a dumpster again…which meant that, if he sat up, he'd hit his head. He stilled.

His master released him and moved back. "So," he said, "you done dying on me?"

"How long have I been out of it?" Apprentice asked.

"A few hours," his master replied. "I finished raiding about an hour ago." He sighed. "You nearly worked yourself to death," he said. His tone was indecipherable, and of course, Apprentice couldn't see his expression.

"I told you I'd work hard," Apprentice said.

"That you did," his master agreed. "I guess I didn't believe you meant it quite so much. You really are a determined kid."

"Did you have any doubts?" Apprentice asked.

"I did," his master admitted. "It seems, however, that the hard work isn't going to be your greatest obstacle." A nasty chuckle echoed in the metal bin as he added, "In fact, I'm getting the feeling that your greatest test is going to be…ironic."

"What do you mean?" Apprentice asked, getting a bad feeling.

"Oh, you'll find out tomorrow," his master said wickedly. "I actually thought you'd find out today, but it seems fate has decided, _against_ my wishes, that you _will_ be eased into this. Two days in a row, however, is unheard of to the point of being impossible. You'll find out tomorrow, mark my words."

Apprentice swallowed, but didn't know what to say.

There was silence for a minute. Then, Apprentice heard his master move.

"How many fingers am I holding up, kid?" he asked.

Apprentice tried to see in the dark, without success. "I don't know," he replied.

His master sighed.

"Give me time," Apprentice said. "I can't train myself to do these things in just a single day. I need to work at it. I _will_ work at it."

"Well, you've certainly proved that you mean it when you say that," his master commented. "Now, get back to sleep, kid. Your true test will come tomorrow, and you're going to need your rest."

"Yes, Master," Apprentice said, not knowing just how bad his true test was going to be.

~X~

The next morning, his master quizzed him as he had the previous morning.

What was his name? Apprentice.

Did he remember his old name? Yes.

How many junkies had come calling the previous night? He didn't know.

What did he know about being a necromerchant? Apprentice recited everything he knew, adding the second and third rules, the true nature of Zydrate addiction, and the almost innate nastiness of junkies to the previous day's list. At this, his master looked pleased, if not impressed.

"Come on, kid," he said when Apprentice was done; "let's go."

Apprentice followed his master, and the routine of the previous day resumed…until that afternoon.

~X~

It was about half past noon when she dealt with his master.

A blond girl, again not even slightly pretty, and in the typically slutty clothes, completed the ritual of contacting the necromerchant, but after a couple of nauseatingly flirtatious sentences were exchanged, she said, "I'm sorry, but…I don't think I have any money with me."

Apprentice's master sighed with mock exasperation. "Again with this?" he said, his evil smile widening for some reason. "This is getting to be a pattern with you. I may have to start refusing to do business with you."

"Can't I just pay later?" she asked, her teasing tone making it clear that she knew the answer.

"I don't take IOUs - you know that," Apprentice's master said.

"Well then," she said, a nasty grin crossing her face, "is there some other way I can pay you?" She traced a finger down the necromerchant's jaw line.

The necromerchant sighed again. "Oh, very well," he said, again with mock exasperation, taking off his pack and dropping it on the ground; "if you must. This is happening a bit too often, though."

"Come on, Graverobber, you know you like it," she teased as he took off his gloves and pocketed them.

"I never said I didn't," he replied nastily.

Apprentice's mind had been slow to comprehend what they were talking about, but at that point he could deny it no longer; it clicked, and he fully understood what was happening.

He cleared his throat. "Er, Master," he said, taking a step back, "I'll just go…"

"No, no, Apprentice," his master told him with a truly evil grin as he shrugged off his coat; "stay. You'll learn a thing or two." He turned to the girl. "You don't mind, do you, sweetheart?" he asked her wickedly, running a hand down her bare arm.

"Not at all," she replied breathily, reaching down and undoing his belt and pants; "let's give your boy a show."

"I'm for that," the necromerchant said roughly, pulling the girl against him.

Apprentice very much did not want to see this. There was nothing he wouldn't rather do, and nowhere he wouldn't rather be. He remembered what his master had told him his first night, though:_ "Sometimes, it may seem more like I'm making a suggestion than giving you an order, but if I tell you to do something, _you do it_."_

So Apprentice watched as his master took the girl to the ground, pulled aside her scraps of clothing, and started violently rutting on her.

Minutes passed. With each excruciating second, Apprentice had to battle his gag reflex. It was disgusting. The very concept of sex was repugnant to Apprentice, and had been for years; he had trained himself to reject Rotti's preachings, and one of the things Rotti preached was that sex was the meaning of life. Ultimately, that was why Apprentice had become a Christian: According to Christianity, sex was original sin. Between a married man and woman, with the purpose of producing a child, sex was, if nothing else, forgivable; doing it like this, however - as payment for drugs - was sick and gross and so, _so_ wrong.

Apprentice sank to his knees, warring with himself, fearful of what his master would do to him if he failed to suppress his urge to puke; this, he knew, was the 'true test' his master had spoken of, and he refused to fail it.

Moments later, however, something interesting happened: the girl's groans gave way to whimpers, and the necromerchant paused, then reached to his side, pulled out a vial of Zydrate, and held it up to the girl's face.

Fascinated, if no less repulsed, Apprentice watched as the girl's eyes caught on the vial and held. She raised a hand to grab it, but the necromerchant pulled it just out of her reach. He said something that sounded like "Hold still," and she did. In seconds, she completely stopped moving, and even her breathing softened and evened out; she seemed completely oblivious to what was happening to her as the necromerchant resumed, and apparently didn't even notice when he finished - her attention was entirely focused on the little glass vial of glowing blue liquid.

When he was done, the necromerchant rolled off her and handed her the vial. She took it, smiled at him, stood up, and walked away without another word. The necromerchant stayed on the ground where he was for a moment, catching his breath, then sat up and did his pants back up. Finally, he turned around to look at his apprentice.

He chuckled, raising an eyebrow. "Are you okay, kid?" he asked, amused.

Apprentice imagined how he must look: on his knees, shaking with the effort of suppressing the urge to throw up…his skin was probably pale green.

He shakily forced himself to his feet. "Do you…?" he choked. "Do you…have to do that…often?"

His master smiled. "All the time," he crooned.

Then, he said the words Apprentice had been dreading:

"It's part of the job."

Apprentice stumbled back. "No," he said, horrified.

"_Yes_," his master said with relish, grinning like a demon. "Rule number four of our business: The _customer_ is the one who chooses the form of payment. If a customer offers alternative payment, we _have_ to accept."

"Alternative payment?" Apprentice repeated, completely appalled.

"That's what it's called," his master said, still grinning wickedly.

Apprentice shook his head slowly, manically. "No," he whispered. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no-"

"_Yes_," his master said, cutting him off. He stood up. "Is it really that bad?" he taunted, sneering.

"I won't do it," Apprentice stated. "I will _never_ do that. _Ever_."

"You don't have a choice, kid," his master told him. "Besides…" He sneered again. "I thought you said you would do _whatever_ it takes?"

"I wanted to become a necromerchant because I thought it meant being a _rebel_, not a _slut_!" Apprentice shouted.

"Not _slut_," his master corrected; "_Z whore_."

"Slut, whore, what's the difference?" Apprentice retorted.

"The difference is, whores get _paid_ - sluts just get laid," his master replied.

Apprentice shook his head again, disgusted by the gross rhyme.

"Not my words," his master added, seeing this, "but I really couldn't put it better myself. It may be true that, in this case, the sex _is_ the payment, but payment is payment."

"Pretty useful payment!" Apprentice snapped sarcastically. "What's the point?"

The necromerchant shook his head, still smiling. "Kid, I didn't make the rules, I just follow them," he said; "and the 'point' is to have fun."

Apprentice shook his head again, utterly repulsed.

His master laughed. "Come on, kid," he said; "were you like this the first time you fucked?"

"I've never had a first time," Apprentice replied in a low voice. "I'm a virgin."

The necromerchant blinked, his smile vanishing. "You're a _what_, now?" he exclaimed.

"I'm a virgin," Apprentice repeated, "and proud of it!"

It was his master's turn to shake his head. "First Christianity, now virginity," he growled. "Kid, where the fuck have you _been_ your whole life?"

"Either at my father's grave, alone, saying prayers, or at home, with my mother, reading a bible, in both places hating Rotti and renouncing everything he preached," Apprentice replied.

His master blinked. "Oh," he said.

"And it's funny you should mention my religion," Apprentice went on. "You remember how you said it didn't matter why I became a Christian? Well, you were wrong. I became a Christian because according to Christianity, sex is original sin - the ultimate shame." He crossed his arms. "Rotti preaches that sex is the meaning of life, and I renounce him and everything he says. I will not live my life his way. Sex is disgusting and shameful, and I _never_ want to do it. I intend to live and die a virgin-"

"_Die_?" his master repeated. "Kid, who the fuck _wants_ to die a virgin?"

"_I_ do," Apprentice said firmly.

His master's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure about that?" he asked dangerously.

Apprentice fell silent.

"You can't be a grave-robber without being a Z whore, kid," his master told him; "if you can't fuck, you can't do this job…and you know what that means."

_Death._

There was silence between them for a minute. Apprentice's mind was racing. The fact was, he didn't know if he even _could_ fuck - he'd trained himself to be utterly repulsed at the very idea, and he hadn't felt sexual arousal since his first few weeks of puberty; he didn't even remember what it was like, nor did he _want_ to. But if that was the only way he could become a necromerchant…would it be worth it? Was _anything_ worth…_that_?

His master had already pulled his coat and pack back on and was walking away when he made up his mind and spoke.

"What if I don't care?" he challenged.

His master stopped in his tracks, then slowly turned back to him. "What was that?" he asked coldly.

Apprentice stood up straight. "What if I don't care?" he repeated. "What if I'm _not_ willing to do that to become a necromerchant? What if I _would_ rather die than fuck?"

The necromerchant turned around fully and took a step toward his apprentice. "_Would_ you?" he asked dangerously.

Apprentice swallowed. "To be honest, I don't know if I could fuck even if I _did_ want to," he told him. "And I _don't_ want to."

"Do you want to live or not?" his master asked him softly. "It's fuck or die, kid - what do you choose?"

"I…don't even know if I _can_ choose the former," Apprentice said, "and…I don't want to have to find out."

"Is that your choice?" his master repeated, a dangerous glint in his eyes, as he took another step towards him.

Apprentice swallowed…then nodded.

The necromerchant sighed heavily. "Damn it, kid," he muttered; "and here I was starting to become fond of you."

Apprentice blinked at the unexpected words. A split second later, his master grabbed and lifted him by the throat with both hands and slammed him against the wall of the alley. The necromerchant pressed the crooks between his thumbs and first fingers against Apprentice's throat in such a way that, aided by gravity and Apprentice's own weight, Apprentice's airway was completely cut off - he was essentially being hung.

Apprentice struggled involuntarily - he knew his master was far too strong to fight off. He couldn't take in even the tiniest bubble of air. He looked in his master's eyes, and realized two things: one, his master was killing him slowly to give him a chance to change his mind; and two, if he _didn't_ change his mind, his master would kill him, fully, without a second thought - this was no bluff.

A minute later, Apprentice realized a third thing: He didn't want to die.

_If I die,_ he thought, _then my whole life has been for nothing…all the years I spent praying, vowing to become a rebel, determined to live my life spiting Rotti and GeneCo…for nothing. Rotti will win. And my father…will have died for nothing._

"Stop!" he mouthed.

His master shifted his grip on his throat, allowing a narrow passage in Apprentice's windpipe to open. "What was that, kid?" he asked.

"I…said…stop!" Apprentice choked, trying to suck in as much air as he could.

"Change your mind?" his master asked.

"Y…Yes!" Apprentice gasped. "Please…I don't…want…to die…_Please_…!"

"If I let you go, and you try to run, I won't bother strangling you again," his master warned him; "I'll just snap your neck, clean and simple. Understand?"

"Yes…Master!" Apprentice struggled to reply. "_Please_…!"

His master held him up for another second, then suddenly let go. Apprentice fell heavily to the ground, coughing and choking, gasping for air.

"That was a close call, kid," the necromerchant said dryly, looking down at his apprentice with no remorse or pity whatsoever.

It was a minute before Apprentice could speak.

"You really…would have…killed me," he panted; "wouldn't…you?"

"Did you have any doubts?" his master asked, raising an eyebrow coolly.

"I wasn't…sure," Apprentice admitted.

His master laughed coldly. "Thought you were calling my bluff, were you, kid?" he asked mockingly. "Something you should know about me:_ I don't bluff_…and I will do whatever I have to to survive."

"I…know," Apprentice gasped, rubbing his throat.

"Can you get up?" his master asked him unfeelingly.

"Yes," Apprentice said, struggling to his feet.

His master raised an eyebrow at him. "That's not what I meant," he said.

Apprentice blinked…then blushed as he realized the implied meaning of his master's words. "Oh," he said. "I…I don't know."

"_You don't know_…" his master repeated slowly.

"Look, just give me some time, okay?" Apprentice begged. "I spent eight years training myself to think and feel a certain way - it's going to take me a while to retrain myself. I will, though! I'll work at it as hard as I can! I promise!"

"Well, I know to believe you when you make that particular promise," his master commented. "How long do you think it'll take? You'll have to tell me, because I can tell you this: you're not completing your training as a virgin."

"I don't know," Apprentice said. "I…I'll speak up when I…when I can…"

His master laughed cruelly. "When you can _fuck_?" he asked.

Apprentice blushed again and nodded.

His master chuckled. "You really are one-of-a-kind, kid, I'll give you that," he said. "Now come on; I have a business to run." He turned and started walking away again.

"Yes, Master," Apprentice said, and he followed.

Suddenly, he thought of something.

"Hey," he said to his master, "why did you hold out that vial to her halfway through?"

His master chuckled again, probably at Apprentice's hesitance to fully vocalize his meaning. "Kid, junkies want one thing and one thing only: Zydrate…and they will do whatever it takes to get it," he told Apprentice. "They'll let you fuck them, but it's the rare junkie who'll last until you're done before she realizes that sex isn't what she really wants. I guarantee you'll have to do this, if you get that far: you have to remind them what they're getting, or they may not let you finish."

"She seemed like she didn't even notice what you were doing, once you were holding Zydrate in her face," Apprentice said.

"Again, she only wanted one thing," his master said. "That's how it works. It always happens that way."

"Oh," Apprentice said, and he didn't say another word on the subject.

Of course, there was no way Apprentice could have predicted that, when he eventually did become a necromerchant, he would end up dealing with a junkie who would break all the rules. He couldn't predict that he would actually, genuinely _desire_ her; nor that she would be the richest bitch in the world, able to _afford_ to pester him constantly but only pay him in money; nor that she _would_, for _years_; nor that, when she finally gave him alternative payment, it would be only _after_ he'd found a reason to believe in humanity again, and therefore no longer as resigned to his fate as a necromerchant; nor that he would end up using the Zydrate trick on her, not to make her forget that she _wasn't_ enjoying it, but to make her forget that she _was_ - or, for that matter, that it would be an attempt, not to get it over with _faster_, but to _prolong_ the event; nor that the Zydrate trick wouldn't work on her anyway…

No. There was no way anyone could ever have predicted any of that.


	5. Apprenticeship, Part 3

Days passed, and Apprentice quickly got used to the routine - it was the same, every day and night. First thing every morning, his master would quiz him with the exact same questions; then, his master would deal with junkies all day; then they would go to the Z gathering; then they would raid a graveyard, where Apprentice would do as much of the digging as he was physically capable of; then they would find a dumpster in which to spend the rest of the night, and his master would test his ability to see in the dark before they both went to sleep.

His master took alternative payment frequently - sometimes several times a day - and every time, Apprentice forced himself to watch, working to get past his revulsion. It was a losing battle; after all, the reasons why sex was disgusting were still as valid as they had ever been, and Apprentice's only motivation to make himself think otherwise was sheer necessity - and not even _immediate_ necessity, at that. All he could manage was to desensitize himself - his desire (or lack thereof) refused to shift even slightly.

One morning, about ten days into his apprenticeship, Apprentice and his master woke to a dark, cloudy day.

"It looks like it's going to rain," Apprentice commented when the morning quiz was done.

His master coolly raised an eyebrow at him. "So?" he asked.

"So…does that have any potential effect on the raid tonight?" Apprentice asked.

"Well, let's see," his master said mockingly; "if it rains, the ground will be softer, so you won't have to work so hard when you dig for me; and due to the thick clouds, it will be especially dark tonight, so we'll be safer."

This wasn't what Apprentice had meant, but he knew that his master knew that, and he accepted the answer.

The day progressed. It didn't rain that morning, but the clouds seemed to get thicker; it looked like a full-blown storm was brewing. At five in the evening, it was almost as dark as night out. In the dark, while his master was out in the crowds waiting for a junkie to make contact, Apprentice dozed against a wall. Necromerchants really _did_ have to steal whatever opportunity they could to rest, and Apprentice had been getting better about rousing himself quickly…

When he heard his master approaching, he hurriedly stood up straight and looked to see him and whatever junkie he'd just met coming…and blinked.

The girl following his master wasn't one he had seen before. For that matter, she looked nothing like a junkie. She still wasn't quite pretty, but she didn't look nasty at all. There was something..._different_ about her, that Apprentice couldn't quite place…

She caught up to the necromerchant and stopped him.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said when he turned around to face her; "I thought you were someone else."

All junkies said that, _always_ - it was part of the ritual. From what Apprentice could tell, though, this girl sounded like she might actually mean it; she blushed slightly, and took a nervous step back.

Apprentice smiled at her apparent nervousness; it was strange that he almost enjoyed her discomfort, but seeing a girl _not_ flirt shamelessly with his master to get a drug hit was…nice. Refreshing, almost. It felt good, to see some reminder that not _everyone_ left in the world was disgusting.

"That's okay, sweetheart," the necromerchant crooned, smiling at her. "Maybe I can help you?"

"Um…" She smiled back nervously, hesitating.

"Did you want something?" Apprentice's master pressed, stepping towards her.

She took another step back, swallowing hard. "I…uh…" she stammered. Apprentice wondered if her contacting his master might not really have been a genuine mistake, but he didn't think it would be a good idea to interfere.

"It's okay," the necromerchant said; "don't be afraid." The words would have been reassuring, if not for the eerie smile on his face.

"I…I'm sorry to bother you," the girl said, and she started to turn away. "I'll just..."

Apprentice's eyes widened as his master's hand darted out and caught her arm. "Come now, my dear," he said, "I won't hurt you. Isn't there something you want?"

"I…" she stammered nervously, though she didn't try to pull away.

"Don't you want _this_?" the necromerchant asked, reaching into his belt with his free hand and pulling out a vial of Zydrate.

The girl's eyes widened when she saw the glowing vial, though Apprentice couldn't tell if it was because she _did_ want Zydrate after all, or because she had only just realized what she'd accidentally stumbled into.

The necromerchant told her how much a hit cost.

"Oh." She flushed. "Um, you know what? I don't think I have that much…"

"That's okay," the necromerchant told her, his wicked smile widening; "I don't only trade in money."

Apprentice made his decision then; he couldn't take it anymore. "That's enough, Master!" he said, stepping forward and breaking his master's surprisingly gentle grip on the girl's arm. "Leave her alone!" He stepped between the two of them, facing the necromerchant, and turned his head to glance at the girl. "Go!" he told her. "Run!"

She blinked, apparently surprised, but didn't move to go. "Wh…?" she started to ask. Then, her eyes found something over Apprentice's shoulder, and she stepped back fearfully.

Too late, Apprentice turned to look at his master, and saw a fury on the necromerchant's face he could never have imagined. A split second later, the necromerchant's fist collided with Apprentice's jaw.

The blow was like getting hit across the face with a wrecking ball, and it sent Apprentice spinning 540 degrees and to the ground, face-first.

The girl screamed and ran.

Fighting not to lose consciousness, Apprentice tried to push himself up, only for a boot to press down on his back, driving him mercilessly back into the ground.

"_How DARE you_?" his master roared. "_How DARE you get in my way_?" As if to punctuate the necromerchant's fury, thunder rumbled in the distance.

"She wasn't a junkie!" Apprentice cried. "You were scaring her!"

"She _was_ a junkie!" his master snarled, pressing down on Apprentice's back harder. "She was just _new_! They're _always_ nervous the first time! Can you blame them?"

"No, I can't - not if you treat them like _that_!" Apprentice retorted, then cried out as his master pushed him down harder.

"I wasn't going to let her go because_ that's part of the job_!" the necromerchant snapped. "Rule number five: If a new customer starts to get cold feet, _do not_ let him or her walk away! They always try, so we have to be assertive!"

"I didn't know that!" Apprentice protested. "You never told me!"

"I told you to follow my lead!" his master shouted furiously; lightning cracked the sky. "I told you that the _first fucking day_! Damn it, kid! _You DO_-"

He lifted his foot, then kicked Apprentice hard in the side.

"-_NOT_-"

He kicked him again, harder; Apprentice cried out from the force of the blow.

"-_QUESTION_-"

He kicked him again; Apprentice prayed his ribs wouldn't break.

"-_ME_!" his master finished, and he kicked Apprentice a fourth time with what felt like all his strength, then planted his boot on Apprentice's back again. "_YOU GOT THAT, KID_?" he snarled.

"I'm sorry!" Apprentice gasped, in total agony. "I'm sorry, Master! I forgot!"

"_You FORGOT_?" his master shouted. "_Since when do you forget ANYTHING I teach you_?"

"I'm sorry!" Apprentice exclaimed again, fearful.

"'_Sorry_' won't bring that girl back!" the necromerchant roared. "Do you think she will _ever_ approach me again, after this? You didn't just cost me a sale - you cost me a customer!"

"I'm sorry," Apprentice whimpered. "I'm sorry, Master. Please…I'm sorry…"

"Don't you _dare_ cry!" his master snapped. "Do that much right and don't cry!"

"I'm sorry," Apprentice said again, softly, his voice starting to fail him.

The necromerchant ground his heel into Apprentice's back. "Damn it, kid," he growled; "I should just stop teaching you right now. I should declare you unable to be a necromerchant and end this, _now_."

"No!" Apprentice begged. "No, please! _Please_! I'm sorry! It won't happen again, I promise! Please don't kill me! _Please_! _I'm sorry_!" He squeezed his eyes shut, fervently praying that it wouldn't end like this.

Neither of them moved for a minute. Thunder rumbled in the sky, and lightning flashed every now and again.

"You're pathetic, kid," the necromerchant finally spat. "Aren't you even going to try to defend yourself?"

"Master…you and I both know that it would be pointless for me to try and fight you," Apprentice gasped. "You're too strong; I'd lose, no question. My only chance is to lie still and pray you don't kill me."

"To do _what_?" his master growled, pressing down with his boot again.

"_Hope_!" Apprentice corrected himself. "My only chance is to lie still and _hope_ you don't kill me!"

The necromerchant was silent for a moment, then lifted his foot off of Apprentice's back. "Right you are," he said.

Shakily, Apprentice pushed himself into a sitting position, wincing at the pain in his side where he had been kicked. He gingerly touched his jaw where his master had punched him, flinched, then carefully lifted his shirt to look at his side.

The necromerchant rolled his eyes. "Stand up, kid," he spat.

Apprentice looked up at his master with disbelief. "Do you even _know_ how strong you are?" he exclaimed. "You might have broken something!"

"I didn't break anything, kid," his master scoffed. "There'll be plenty of bruising and swelling, and it'll hurt like hell for a while, but I didn't do any permanent damage; I was careful. Believe me, I could have kicked you a _lot_ harder."

"I find that hard to believe," Apprentice grumbled, but he forced himself to his feet, not daring to test his master's patience further.

"Then _you're_ the one who doesn't know how strong I am," his master said icily. "Now come on; you just cost me a customer, and if you cost me another deal as well, I'll have to punish you again."

"Yes, Master," Apprentice said in a small voice, and he followed his master towards the next daily dealing spot as the first drop of ice-cold rain fell from the sky.

As the freezing rain started coming down in buckets, soothing the pain in Apprentice's throbbing jaw, it crossed his mind that he now knew all of the rules of the necromerchant business.

_Everything else is up to me, then,_ he thought.

~X~

Fortunately, it turned out that his master _had_ been careful not to break Apprentice's ribs, though the bruises on his side and jaw were very swollen and painful. Naturally, his master didn't go easy on him or give him a break in any area of his training, and acted as though they were to proceed as though the beating had never happened. If only because of fear of what his master could do to him, Apprentice didn't dare complain. The injuries healed eventually, without any sort of permanent damage or scars.

About three weeks after he first apprenticed himself to the local necromerchant, Apprentice was walking down a street with his master, only to be stopped by the sound of a voice calling him by his old name…a voice he knew well.

He turned, just in time to see his mother running towards him.

"Oh, sweetheart, there you are!" she cried, throwing her arms around him and hugging him tightly; he could tell she was on the verge of tears. "I've been looking everywhere for you! I was so worried! You scared me so much!"

He wanted to hug her back, but he knew his master was watching, so instead, he struggled. He'd gotten a bit stronger since he'd left home, but he still wasn't strong enough to break out of her frantic grip. "Let me go!" he exclaimed...meaning so much more than just for her to release her embrace.

Suddenly, Apprentice's master stepped in, grabbing his mother's arms and pulling them apart, then pushing her away.

"Ma'am, this boy is my apprentice, and I would appreciate it if you let him go," he said firmly, stepping between her and her son.

"You!" Apprentice's mother exclaimed, her eyes wide as she stared at the necromerchant. "You took my boy from me!"

"No, Mom, it wasn't like that!" Apprentice exclaimed.

The necromerchant turned his head slightly, giving his apprentice a look out of the corner of his eye.

Apprentice swallowed. "I mean, uh…" he stammered. He took a breath, then looked his former mother in the eye with as much coldness as he could muster. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said.

His master stepped out of the way but raised an eyebrow at him.

Apprentice glanced at his master, then turned back to his ex-mother. "I…I don't know who you are," he forced himself to say, though it broke his heart to do so.

It broke hers, too - he saw it in her eyes. "You know me! I'm your _mother_!" she exclaimed, tears welling in her eyes and spilling over.

Apprentice wanted to cry, too, but he swallowed his tears and shook his head. "No," he said. "I…I have no mother."

"No!" she wailed. "Don't say that!" She called him by his old name again.

"That's not my name," he said firmly. "My name is Apprentice - that's my _only_ name."

She sobbed, then turned to the necromerchant. "You!" she shrieked. "What have you done to my boy? Let go of him, you freak!"

The necromerchant raised an eyebrow at her coolly. "This boy came to _me_," he told her, cool as you please. "He asked me to train him, and I agreed. He follows me of his own free will."

"It's true…ma'am," Apprentice said. "I chose this life. Actually," he amended, deciding he could still safely tell her a piece of the truth, "this life chose _me_…when I was nine years old."

She turned back to him, and he saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes. "Is this about your father, sweetheart?" she asked him breathlessly. "I told you-"

"It doesn't matter," Apprentice said, knowing what she was going to say and deciding it would be best to respond before the words came out, so his master would never know them for sure. "The point is, I'm living my life as I choose." He allowed his expression to soften. "I'm sorry," he told her, meaning the words with all his heart.

She blinked, still tearful. The necromerchant gave his apprentice a look.

"…But you must have me mistaken for someone else," Apprentice finished, seeing his master's glare. "For your sake, I hope you are…because I have no mother. Not anymore."

The necromerchant nodded. "Now, ma'am, if you'll excuse us," he said; "I have a business to run, and my apprentice has training to do." He started walking away. Apprentice's mother was too stunned to move.

Apprentice started to follow…then stopped by his mother's side for a moment.

"I'm sorry, Mother," he whispered to her, "but this is the way it has to be. Goodbye."

And he walked away, leaving the one person he had left from his old life behind forever.

~X~

That night, Apprentice hacked at the ground with his shovel, moodier than usual.

"You okay, kid?" his master finally asked.

"Like you care," Apprentice grumbled.

"Are you thinking about your mother?" his master asked him, his tone oddly gentle.

Apprentice stopped what he was doing to glare up at his master; that was answer enough.

"You did the right thing," his master told him.

Apprentice laughed humorlessly. "You say that like you wouldn't have beaten me senseless if I'd done it any other way," he said, turning back to the ground and continuing to dig.

His master was silent for a moment.

"You did it another way at the end anyway, though," he finally pointed out.

Apprentice paused in his work again to looking up at his master, wide-eyed.

His master raised an eyebrow at him. "You think I didn't hear what you whispered to her after I walked away?" he asked sarcastically. "I told you, kid - I trained my ears for two years to get this job, and I can hear a guard sneaking up on me in the middle of digging before the guard even knows I'm there. I heard you."

Apprentice swallowed but said nothing.

His master chuckled. "I'm not going to beat you for it," he told him; "you did what you had to. In the end, you turned your back on her, and that's what really matters. If you had to soften the blow to both of you like that…well, I guess no harm done."

Apprentice turned back to the ground and went back to work. There was silence for a minute.

"Thank you," Apprentice finally said. "I guess."

His master said nothing.

Apprentice paused again and sighed. "It's just that…I didn't realize I had a third option in life…until I lost it today," he said.

"What?" his master asked him, sounding confused.

Apprentice looked up at him. "Fuck or die weren't my only options - at least, not before today," he told his master. "There was a third way things could have gone."

"Oh, really?" his master asked him, raising an eyebrow. "Pray tell."

"I could have gone home," Apprentice said, ignoring the pun; "that is, if something happened to _you_."

The necromerchant blinked.

"The only thing keeping me stuck in this position, before today, was _you_," Apprentice went on. "If you had died, I would have been able to go home."

"Are you threatening me, kid?" his master asked him, narrowing his eyes dangerously.

"No, Master," Apprentice replied. "I…I honestly don't think I could ever bring myself to hurt so much as a _fly_, never mind a person; and even if I could, you and I both know you could easily overpower me. I'm just saying, if something _had_ happened to you, I would have been free." He turned back to the ground and went back to work again. "Not anymore, though," he said; "not now that I ended things with my mother like that. I could _never_ face her again, now."

"I think she would forgive you," his master said. "Isn't that what mothers do?"

"Are you trying to make me feel better?" Apprentice asked incredulously, looking up at his master once more.

His master gave him a twisted smile. "Maybe," he admitted.

Apprentice rolled his eyes and kept digging, and again there was silence, save for the sound of shovel on earth.

"There is one thing I'm curious about though, kid," Apprentice's master finally said: "You're willing to turn on your mother like that, but you're not willing to fuck? You _can't_ tell me that being cruel to your mother isn't a sin in Christianity."

"It _is_ a sin," Apprentice admitted; "a terrible one. It's _not_, however, the reason I joined Christianity in the first place."

"You became a Christian because you think sex is a sin, and you think sex is a sin because you're a Christian," his master mused. "Am I missing something here?"

"I think sex is a sin because Rotti says it's the meaning of life, and Rotti is evil," Apprentice stated. "I follow Christianity because it says sex is a sin, and because Rotti tried to do away with any religion save the worship of sex, surgery, and _him_."

"Ah," the necromerchant said. "I see. But of course, you mean you _used_ to follow Christianity," he added.

"Yeah, yeah," Apprentice muttered; he had no intention of letting go of who he was. He handed his master the shovel. "I'm done," he told him.

His master hopped down into the hole he'd dug and took the shovel. Apprentice watched his master open the coffin, and he tried to get a glimpse of how Zydrate was harvested, but as always, his master positioned himself so that what he did was completely hidden from Apprentice.

"Are you ever going to show me how that's done?" Apprentice asked, exasperated.

"Not for a while, kid," his master replied; "you're not ready."

Apprentice sighed but didn't bother trying to force the issue. After a moment, a quote from the Bible crossed his mind.

"Leviticus 20:9," he whispered under his breath: "'For anyone who curseth his father or mother shall surely be put to death: he hath cursed his father or his mother; his blood shall be upon him.'"

His master glanced back at him. "That's pretty grim," he commented. "I don't suppose extenuating circumstances are taken into account for things like that?"

Apprentice shook his head.

"Well," his master said, turning back to his work, "you _are_ doing this for your _father_."

"True," Apprentice admitted, "but that doesn't make what I did to my _mother_ today any less of a sin."

"Well, for what it's worth, kid," his master said, straightening with a fresh vial of Zydrate in his hand and turning to look him in the eye, "I'm proud of you."

Apprentice blinked; the words seemed strange coming from his master. "You are?" he asked.

The necromerchant nodded, meeting Apprentice's eyes steadily. "You did what you had to do," he said. "You even risked going behind my back, even though you were afraid of me, to tell your mother goodbye; and you turned your back on her - and your old life - in the end. I couldn't have asked for more from you…nor could I have done so well myself."

Apprentice felt his face get hot; he had never expected to hear nearly so much praise from his master, _ever_. "Thank you, Master," he choked. "That…that means a lot to me."

The necromerchant rolled his eyes, cold once more. "Don't get all sappy on me, kid," he said; "I'm just telling it like I see it." He sighed, then muttered something.

"What was that?" Apprentice asked.

"I said, damn you," his master said, louder this time.

Apprentice blinked. "Why?" he asked, confused.

"Because you-" He stopped, cocking his head slightly, an intense expression on his face.

"Master-?" Apprentice began, alarmed at this sudden change.

His master quickly raised a hand to silence him. He cursed under his breath a second later, and before Apprentice could blink, his master grabbed him, putting one gloved hand over his mouth, picked him up, and started sprinting away from the recently dug-up grave.

Less than a minute later - just as they crossed the graveyard boundary - an alarm was sounded and a lockdown was called; the graveyard they had been raiding had been one of the better-guarded ones. The necromerchant stopped a little further on and pressed his back to a tree, still gripping Apprentice tightly, and peered around to look at the guards that were swarming on the borders.

He let out a breath. "We were talking too long," he told Apprentice, releasing his hold and turning to him.

Apprentice found his footing and took a step back, crouching among the foliage. "How did you know?" he asked his master softly.

His master smiled at him. "I told you," he said; "I can hear a guard sneaking up on me before they even know I'm there. I heard one coming, a second too late; I knew there was no way we'd be able to fill in that grave and move out of the way before he found us, even if we worked together, so the only choice we had was to immediately run." He glanced back, then turned to Apprentice again. "You have to make judgement calls when you're in this business, kid," he told him; "you know that."

Apprentice thought. "Rule one, part one: Do not take risks," he recited, smiling.

His master smiled back and nodded. "That's right," he said. He turned back again, watching the commotion the dug-up grave had caused behind them. "Come on, kid," he said; "we're done for the night."

"Yes, Master," Apprentice said.

They headed back into town.

"Master?" Apprentice asked after a minute.

"Yes?" his master responded.

"Why did you say to me, 'damn you'?" Apprentice asked.

His master stopped, then sighed, not looking at his apprentice.

"Because you…remind me what it feels like to be human," he replied, his tone indecipherable, "and that's really fucking inconvenient…not to mention annoying."

"What do you mean, Master?" Apprentice asked, confused.

The necromerchant sighed again, then finally turned back to look at Apprentice. "Kid, I've been a necromerchant for years," he told him, "and I can't remember the last time I felt…well, the last time I felt _anything_. I've been dead inside all this time, as dead as the bodies I dig up for a living. That's not…it's not a _necessary_ part of being a necromerchant, but it happens. It's just easier to be cold." He sighed again. "I know you think I'm cruel, even schizophrenic," he said; "I know _exactly_ what you think of me. I see the way you look at me - like you're afraid I'll be set off without warning and beat you to death. The truth is…well, maybe I _am_ sort of schizophrenic, in that I haven't cared about anyone or anything in years, and I thought I never would again - and I even thought that it was for the best. But you…" He shook his head. "You're…different. You're more alive than most people - maybe more so than anyone left in this fucked-up world Rotti created. You _care_ - you care about people, you care what's right and wrong…_Y__ou_…_feel_. And in doing so, you occasionally remind _me_ what it's like to feel. It's just hard on me at times…to remember what I lost. Sometimes, I hate you for it…and sometimes, I'm grateful. Sometimes, I'm sorry you have to end up like me; sometimes, I'm so jealous of your heart that I almost feel glad that you're going to lose it." He closed his eyes. "But hatred, gratitude, remorse, and jealousy…those are still feelings, and I thought I'd never have _any_, ever again. It's…confusing, now, to feel sometimes. It's frustrating."

There was silence between them for a minute; Apprentice didn't know what to say. For a man who claimed to be unable to feel, this was quite a show of humanity on his master's part, and Apprentice couldn't help but wonder if his master had given up on the idea of living too soon. At any rate, he certainly felt the need to reconsider his opinion of the necromerchant…

His master sighed again. "In the end, though, kid, it doesn't really matter," he said, turning back around and starting to walk again. "You'll end up dead inside, just like me - for better,_and_ for worse."

"What makes you so sure?" Apprentice asked.

His master chuckled. "Trust me," he said nastily; the humanity he had shown was gone again, just like that.

~X~

Time went on, and Apprentice's training continued. Knowing all the rules and regulations, all that was left was for him to train his body and senses and retrain his mind, and for him to learn how to harvest Zydrate.

Slowly but surely, Apprentice grew stronger. After a month, he could go an entire graveyard raid without feeling like he was going to fall over when he was done; and a week later, he even started being able to pry coffins open.

His senses didn't improve terribly, though he _did_ try. Eventually, he was able to train his _ears_ to be able to tell when his master held up one hand or two when he tested Apprentice's eyesight each night, or when he didn't lift either and only asked to trick him; in situations where he had to filter out other sounds, however, Apprentice still struggled, and his eyesight didn't improve significantly.

His greatest struggle was in retraining his mind to accept, and even desire, sex. He'd been building a schema for eight years that simply didn't allow for it, and though he worked hard at it, his efforts yielded minimal results. Still, after three months, he could watch his master take alternative payment without feeling the need to puke - though this could have been simple desensitization.

As for harvesting Zydrate, he tried to get his master to show him how it was done - even tried to sneak looks at what his master did to the bodies he dug up - but always without success.

"You're not ready yet, kid," his master kept saying; "you're just not ready."


	6. Trial by Fuck

After four months, Apprentice was about ready to give up.

"_Why_ does sex have to be part of this job?" he demanded of his master one night, while they were out raiding a less-secure graveyard. "It's one of the five _flexible_ rules - why can't I just be an exception?"

"Ultimately, because I say so," his master replied coolly.

"_Why_, though?" Apprentice repeated. "I don't get it. I just don't get it! I don't get why people are so obsessed with it; I don't get why it has to be part of this job; I don't get why the hell I should even want to do it! I don't get why _anyone_ wants to do it! It's _disgusting_!"

His master chuckled. "Kid, I know your _father_ never got to tell you…" Apprentice bristled but didn't interrupt. "…but didn't your _mother_ ever explain things to you?"

"She started to, once," Apprentice replied; "I stopped her. I told her I didn't need to know - I had no intention of ever doing it."

"Oh, the irony," the necromerchant muttered, sounding very much amused.

"Yeah," Apprentice grumbled; "ha, ha." He sighed. "Look, I just don't get it, alright?" he said, exasperated. "Why do people do it? The only point is to produce children, but that has nothing to do with why it would be payment for drugs…"

"Kid," the necromerchant said, in a tone that suggested amused disbelief, "it's _fun_."

"How so?" Apprentice asked. "What could possibly be _fun_ about…_that_?"

"You really don't know?" his master asked incredulously.

"Do I _sound_ like I know?" Apprentice retorted.

"It _feels good_," the necromerchant told him, laughing as though this was the most well-known fact in the world (which it was).

"How so?" Apprentice asked.

His master laughed, shaking his head. "It just _does_," he said. "_Physically_, it feels good."

"How so?" Apprentice asked again. "How could that feel good?"

The necromerchant grabbed the shovel in Apprentice's hand, stopping him. Apprentice turned to see his master smiling at him as though he thought he was joking.

"Come on, kid," he said; "you're shitting me right now, right? You can't be serious."

"I am serious," Apprentice said, meeting his master's eyes. "I really don't get it."

The necromerchant blinked, his smile slowly fading as he realized Apprentice was telling the truth. He shook his head slowly. "No _wonder_ it's taking you so long," he said with realization; "you don't have the faintest idea what you're doing! How could…Kid, why the hell didn't you speak up _sooner_?"

Apprentice looked at his master and mimicked the necromerchant's almost-trademark eyebrow arch.

The necromerchant blinked. "Oh, yeah," he said; "you're afraid of me. Right." He shook his head again. "Kid, you should have said something. I had no idea you…" He shook his head again, chuckling. "Damn it, kid, how the fuck did you _do_ that?"

"Do what?" Apprentice asked.

"You're not slow," his master went on, almost as though Apprentice hadn't spoken; "you just managed to kill your instincts somehow! How…How is that even _possible_?"

"My instincts?" Apprentice repeated.

His master gave him a long look. "Come on," he said at last, "fill in this hole; we're done for the night. I have to…figure this out. You…" He shook his head again and released his grip on the shovel in Apprentice's hand.

"But we've barely started," Apprentice said; "you haven't even gotten a single vial yet."

"I have a backup stock," his master told him, waving Apprentice's protests aside. "It's not vital to go raiding _every_ night."

"Then why do we?" Apprentice asked, filling in the hole he'd dug.

"To train _you_, of course," his master replied; "but since _this_ isn't your problem…" He trailed off, sounding very confused, as one might if the moon were to suddenly and inexplicably turn green.

"Are you okay, Master?" Apprentice asked.

"Just…give me a minute," the necromerchant muttered; "I have to figure this out. This is…not a problem I expected it was possible to face…"

Alarmed, Apprentice finished filling the dirt back in, and he and his master walked back into town in silence.

"Master?" Apprentice finally asked apprehensively. "Are you…mad at me?"

His master glanced at him. "Mad?" he repeated. "…No. I'm not mad. Just…bewildered. You…" He chuckled with amazement, shaking his head again. "You really _are_ one-of-a-kind," he said. "I didn't know it was possible to kill your instincts like this."

"'Kill my instincts'…" Apprentice repeated. "You said that before. What do you mean?"

"I mean that _sex_ is instinctive," his master told him, "as is desire for it. It's part of the base animalistic drive of…pretty much every living thing."

"The key word there being 'base'," Apprentice commented.

"I…suppose so," the necromerchant admitted. He stopped, then turned to his apprentice with a sigh. "How were you going about trying to retrain yourself?" he asked.

Apprentice shrugged. "I don't know," he said; "I was trying to understand the point…I guess the only thing I was really doing was working on trying not to be sick at the thought."

"No wonder it's taken you this long," the necromerchant said; "clearly, you didn't have the faintest idea what you were doing - how _could_ you have accomplished anything? Kid…" He sighed again. "There's no…_understanding_ it, per se. I could go into all kinds of explanations about biology and psychology and reward systems, but it's not something words can really explain. It's just that…people fuck for pleasure. I can't describe it to you, because words can't do it justice - it's not something you'll understand until you _do_ it. I…" He shook his head again. "Damn it, kid, _everyone_ has felt aroused at some point or another! You can't tell me you haven't!"

"Not since I first hit puberty," Apprentice said. "I stamped on it before it lasted for long, and I don't remember what it feels like. For that matter, I don't _want_ to. It's just…disgusting."

The necromerchant sighed and shook his head again, putting a gloved hand over his face. "Kid, you are…impossible," he said. "You're just…impossible. _No one_ can be as pure as you. It's just not possible."

"Well, here I am," Apprentice said with a shrug.

"And _I_ have to be the one to corrupt you," his master muttered. He smiled humorlessly. "Good thing my soul was already damned anyway, huh?" he said.

Apprentice said nothing to this.

The necromerchant sighed again. "Look, kid, I can't _explain_ the pleasures of sex to you - words just don't work for it. It's…incredible beyond description. What's more, it's something _everyone_ desires - that's how Rotti was able to control everyone with the concept. _Every_ brain is hard-wired to want it, so I _know_ you have it in you. If you don't, you're not human. It's that simple."

Apprentice would never admit it out loud, but there was something intriguing about what his master was saying. _"Incredible beyond description"…that's quite a statement,_ he thought. _Is it really _that_ much fun? How can that be?_

_…What could it possibly feel like?_

As soon as that thought crossed his mind, he knew there was no going back - he was tempted, if only by curiosity.

The necromerchant smiled wickedly, as though he could see the change taking place in Apprentice's mind. "I know you have it in you, kid," he said again. "Next time a bitch gives me alternative payment, don't try to _understand_ it - just see what you can _feel_. It's a _feeling_, not a thought."

"I'll…keep that in mind," Apprentice said slowly.

His master laughed nastily. "Come on, kid," he said; "let's find a dumpster to spend the night in. We'll both get some extra sleep tonight."

"Yes, Master," Apprentice said, and he followed his master through the streets, lost in thoughts of sin and temptation.

o~X~o

Okay, quick disclaimer: I KNOW there are asexual people in the world. For explanation of the stuff said here, I'm going to go with, our future Graverobber's mentor had never encountered any reason to think that such people exist, combined with a bottleneck effect from the epidemic that ravaged the planet (hey, it's not like I made this story up or anything lol).

Second, even though I've finally released PART of this chapter, I'm still not going to publish the actual SEX SCENE I wrote, for three reasons: One, I'm just not comfortable sharing such extremely explicit material; Two, I want to preserve a bit of Graverobber's dignity; and Three…well, I'm a female virgin - how could I possibly describe a formerly asexual male's first sexual experience with any sort of accuracy? XD I won't leave everyone guessing at the content I'm censoring, though - I'll give a quick summary:

Basically, our future Graverobber (remarkably quickly) breaks the lock he managed to put on his sex drive. About a week after that, he finally makes himself accept "alternative payment" from a junkie in place of his master. Now, junkies are gross, and he does not - never has, and never will - feel ANY desire for ANY of them; however, in spite of (or perhaps, BECAUSE of) the fact that he used to so completely suppress his sex drive, he's able to fuck by focusing on WHAT he's doing and avoiding thinking about WHO.

…Until Amber, of course, but that's more than ten years from now. XD

Anyway, here's the tail end of this chapter, too - it should make the start of the next chapter a little easier to understand:

o~X~o

His master walked up behind him. "Well done, kid," he said.

Apprentice buckled his belt…and then, suddenly, it hit him.

_Oh, dear Lord…_

He sagged against the wall of the alley. "What have I done?" he groaned miserably.

His master chuckled. "I think the better question is 'who'?" he commented.

"Shut up!" Apprentice snapped, squeezing his eyes shut. He groaned again, this time with self-disgust, feeling his gorge rise. "I think I'm gonna be sick," he muttered.

"Oh, come on, kid," his master teased; "you enjoyed it. You _know_ you enjoyed it."

"Which is exactly why I may be sick," Apprentice growled.

His master chuckled again. Apprentice said nothing. It was over.

"Come on, kid," the necromerchant finally said; "we can't stay here all day."

"Can _I_?" Apprentice asked softly. "Please?"

"You really feel that bad?" his master asked.

"Yes," Apprentice whispered.

"Hmm…Well, that's too bad," his master said; "I _had_ something that might make you feel better, once the Z gathering's over tonight, but if you can't deal with this, then maybe you aren't ready…"

"What?" Apprentice asked, looking up at his master.

His master smiled wickedly. "Does this mean you can come to terms with this?" he asked.

"I will," Apprentice said; "I'll need a little time, but…I will."

"Well, then," the necromerchant said, "once tonight's Z gathering is over with, I think it's time for the next stage in your training."

Apprentice's eyes widened. "You don't mean…?" he breathed, hardly daring to believe it.

"I do," his master said, smiling an almost genuine-looking smile; "it's time you learned to harvest Zydrate."

"_Yes_!" Apprentice cried triumphantly, leaping to his feet, his damnation momentarily forgotten.

"_After_ the Z gathering," his master added sternly, but he smiled. "Now let's go."

"Yes, Master!" Apprentice said enthusiastically, and he followed his master through the street to the next daytime dealing spot, a spring in his step.

Halfway there, it dawned on him.

"Hey, wait a minute!" he exclaimed at his master. "You were _waiting_ for this, weren't you? You were _never_ going to teach me to harvest Zydrate until I'd fucked someone!"

His master smiled at him mischievously. "Of course I wasn't," he replied; "how else could I be sure you would _ever_ get that part of your training out of the way?"

Apprentice shook his head. "Damn you," he said, but he smiled.

_I guess it's true,_ he thought;_ it's always darkest just before the dawn._


	7. Apprenticeship, Part 4

Apprentice waited impatiently for the end of the day. At the Z gathering, he blushed deeply when he saw the girl he'd given his virginity to, and vaguely wondered if she knew it had been his first time. She giggled when she noticed him looking at her, and he noticed a lot of looks from the others that suggested that they knew what he'd done…although that could have just been paranoia on his part.

Finally, Apprentice and his master went out raiding. Apprentice dug up a body, popped the lid open, and stepped aside.

"Alright, kid," his master said, "time you see how this is done. Watch carefully."

Eagerly, Apprentice watched as his master opened his pack, took out a needle, attached an empty vial to it, and bent over the corpse. The necromerchant held the needle pointing towards the body's face for a moment, then suddenly - and to Apprentice's alarm - jammed the needle up the corpse's nose.

Fascinated, Apprentice watched as his master pulled back on the plunger, and the vial filled with the glowing blue liquid known as Zydrate. When it was full, the necromerchant pulled the needle out, detached the vial, and held it up to Apprentice.

"And that's that," he said with finality.

Apprentice stared, unsure what he was seeing.

His master chuckled and stuck the vial into a loop on his belt. "Remember when I told you Zydrate's true identity wasn't charming?" he said to Apprentice.

It was a rhetorical question, but Apprentice answered anyway. "Yes, Master," he said. He waited for his master to elaborate. When he didn't, he asked, "Master…what _is_ Zydrate?"

His master smiled wickedly at him. "Brain rot," he answered.

Apprentice blinked. "Don't you…have to do…something to it?" he asked.

"Nope," his master replied, grinning; "it's pure."

"How…how can pure brain rot work as a drug?" Apprentice asked, bewildered.

The necromerchant shrugged. "Kid, I don't have the faintest idea," he replied; "anyone who _does_ know works for Rotti, and they aren't telling. People don't know that Zydrate is brain rot - they probably wouldn't be quite so eager to inject themselves with it if they knew." He chuckled. "We're _necromerchants_, kid," he said; "literally, 'death-traders'. We deal in rot."

"Why is it blue, though?" Apprentice asked. "And why does it glow?"

"I don't know," his master replied. "It doesn't really matter."

"Uh-huh," Apprentice muttered. This was not at all what he'd expected, and he found it fascinating.

His master laughed. "I'll tell you a funny secret, kid," he said; "when _I_ first learned what Zydrate really was, I threw up."

Apprentice stared at his master. "You did?" he asked, surprised.

"Yep," the necromerchant replied. "On the other hand, when I learned that being a necromerchant meant getting laid all the time, I was _thrilled_." He grinned. "How about that, kid?" he said. "We're opposites."

"I guess we are," Apprentice agreed. "Now, can you show me how to do that? I mean, do you just jam the needle in a corpse's skull, or…?"

"Well, why don't you dig up another one, and I'll teach you?" the necromerchant said.

"Yes, Master!" Apprentice said enthusiastically. He filled in the grave he'd dug up, dug up another one, popped the coffin open, and stood back expectantly.

The necromerchant readied another needle and handed it to Apprentice. "Now, kid," he instructed, "it doesn't matter where you stick the needle in terms of getting Zydrate - the stuff just forms in the brain cavity, so it doesn't really matter where you draw from as long as it's in the top part of the skull. However, there's a soft spot between the brain and the nasal canal where it's safest to jab it, as the needle can break if you try to stick it straight through bone - and these needles are very difficult to replace, so _be careful_."

"Yes, Master," Apprentice said.

"Here," the necromerchant said, and he took hold of Apprentice's hands and guided the needle in his hands to a spot stuck up the corpse's nose, sticking it into the rotten flesh slightly - the needle felt to Apprentice's hands like it was in something particularly sticky. "Right there," the necromerchant said; "you feel it stick like that? That's where you want to aim. After some practice, you'll be able to just jam it in without even thinking about it; for now, when you draw, gently stick the needle in a few times until you feel it stick like that."

"Yes, Master," Apprentice said.

"Now," said the necromerchant, "smack it."

"What?" Apprentice asked, confused, looking at his master.

"You need to get the end of the needle inside the brain cavity," his master explained; "hit the end of the plunger hard so that it goes in."

"Yes, Master," Apprentice said, and he took the flat of his palm and hit it so that the needle broke through the flesh barrier and entered the brain cavity. Without being prompted, Apprentice then pulled back on the plunger, watching, fascinated, as the vial filled with Zydrate. When it was full, he pulled the needle back out and held it up.

He grinned. "I did it!" he exclaimed.

The necromerchant smiled, too. "Congratulations, kid," he said; "you're almost a necromerchant now yourself."

Apprentice chuckled triumphantly. This was what he'd been waiting to learn the whole time he'd been the necromerchant's apprentice - how to break Rotti's laws. _This is my first true act of rebellion against GeneCo,_ he reflected, feeling immensely proud of himself. He looked at the sky. _This is for you, father,_ he thought; _I hope you're proud of me._

"Are you going to stand there all night, kid?" Apprentice's master asked, startling him from his reverie.

"Oh!" he exclaimed. "No, Master, I'm sorry."

The necromerchant chuckled. "Don't be sorry, kid," he said; "you've worked hard for this - it's only natural you feel a little in awe of yourself."

That wasn't exactly how Apprentice would have described what he was feeling, but he didn't object to the wording. He detached the now-full vial of Zydrate and held it out to his master.

"Oh, no, that's yours," the necromerchant told him.

He blinked.

The necromerchant smiled. "One last thing you need to learn," he said: "Robber's Right - whoever draws the Zydrate, owns the Zydrate, until it's sold. So that vial's yours."

Apprentice thought. "But…that means that, if you want to have Zydrate to sell tomorrow, you're going to have to draw it," he said slowly. "But I want to practice. I don't need money - you're taking care of me right now, so I'm not the one who needs it. I'll need it when I go on to deal on my own, but…well, for now, you're sort of paying me back by taking care of me. So, here." He gestured insistently with the vial.

The necromerchant hesitated, then nodded. "Thanks, kid," he said, and he took it.

That night, Apprentice's master's role became purely to supervise - Apprentice did _everything_. He dug up the bodies, opened the coffins, harvested the Zydrate - perfectly, every time, though he did need to take several probing jabs each time before he could find the soft spot - and filled the graves back in. The raid finished, they went and found a dumpster to spend the night in, Apprentice's night vision was tested - and proved to be unimproved - and they went to sleep.

When Apprentice awoke the next morning, he didn't feel any different right away. It wasn't until his master's morning quiz that there proved to be a change.

"What's your name, kid?" the necromerchant asked.

"Apprentice," Apprentice replied readily.

"Do you remember what your old name used to be?" his master asked him. Today, there was something strange in his eyes as he asked the question.

Apprentice opened his mouth automatically to say yes, but before the word was out of his mouth, he stopped.

What _had_ his old name been?

He couldn't remember.

Suddenly in a panic, Apprentice frantically racked his brains. What was his real name? What was it?

Suddenly, he remembered.

He sighed, relieved. "Yes," he said, "I remember my old name. I forgot it for a second there, but I remember it."

The necromerchant was silent for a moment, his expression ponderous. "Interesting…" he finally said slowly, more to himself than to Apprentice. "Very interesting…So it is real…"

"What?" Apprentice asked, confused.

The necromerchant tilted his head. "Kid," he said, "it's time you knew about a certain necromerchant legend; something of a myth, you might say. You know how I told you you would forget your name and your past? Well, that's because all necromerchants forget their pasts, more completely than should be possible, whether they want to or not. This…phenomenon, I guess you could call it, has been dubbed 'Death's Revenge Syndrome', for the reason that our memories seem to start fading at the exact same time that we start disturbing the eternal rest of the dead. The _name_ is purely superstitious - the idea being that the dead souls of the corpses we abuse are getting revenge on us by making it so that we can never be anything else _but_ necromerchants, doomed to be only partly human for the rest of our lives. You, however, have just proved that there really is _something_ valid to the concept - that there's more to this than just the power of suggestion; after all, I never told you about it, but it has affected you the same way it does every necromerchant." The necromerchant smiled. "If psychology weren't a dead science, like everything else Rotti couldn't allow people to have access to while still having complete control over them, you would be a case study worth documenting."

"I've been digging up bodies for months," Apprentice said in slight protest.

"Yes," his master said, "but you never so much as _touched_ the actual _bodies_ until last night - and in a matter of hours since then, everything you've held on to so well has rapidly started to fade from your memory." He chuckled. "I highly doubt it has anything to do with vengeful spirits, but there _is something_ to the concept…I would be interested to know what."

"Me, too," Apprentice said, lacking anything else with which to respond to this.

Later, he would come up with a theory that he would never share: Zydrate itself was the culprit. It fits, as Rotti was somehow able to take over the entire world and brainwash everyone, even those who were old enough to otherwise remember a time before GeneCo; and, also, it makes sense in that, if brain rot fucked with living brain tissue, it would fuck with more than just the ability to feel physical pain.

For now, Apprentice finished the morning quiz, then followed his master to deal said mind-wiping brain rot to the local junkies.

~X~

Death's Revenge Syndrome was a fast-acting malady. Within the space of 48 hours after he first learned to harvest Zydrate, all of Apprentice's memories from prior to his father's death were irretrievably gone. Before a week had passed, he had forgotten all his memories of having ever been a Christian, and nothing about the religion that wasn't purely common knowledge existed in his head. Three days after that, he forgot everything about his mother - he did remember saying goodbye to her, but her face, voice, and name, as well as all his other memories of her, were simply gone. The sound of hammers on coffin nails slowly stopped echoing in his ears when there was silence, and after two weeks, when he closed his eyes, he no longer saw his father's funeral. In short, it was next to no time before all he remembered about his old life were the fact that his father had been taken by organ repossession, his vow to never forgive Rotti or GeneCo, and his own name. Everything else was quickly lost, forever, never to be recalled again. Naturally, being the most integral parts of who he was, those last three things lingered for quite a bit longer. Furthermore, his burning hatred and rage, being less of a memory and more of a feeling, never, _ever_ faded, not even slightly.

On the other hand, his improvements in his training took a sharp upward curve. His body strengthened even further, his muscles grew, what little fat remained on his body was stripped away, and he became as strong and fit as his master. His senses, incredibly, started to sharpen at a surprising rate, and before long, he could actually sense how many fingers his master was holding up, even in pitch darkness - he wasn't able to truly _see_ them, so much as his eyes somehow processed the information in a vague way he couldn't understand; at first, he thought he was just imagining things, but he quickly learned to trust his new abilities. No longer burdened by thoughts of sin, he took alternative payment in his master's place more and more frequently; the junkies actually preferred him, saying he wasn't as rough as his master - a strange compliment that he accepted silently, as they all still utterly repulsed him. He quickly grew proficient at harvesting Zydrate, and it wasn't long before he didn't have to take probing jabs and could simply jam the needle directly into the brain cavities of corpses. He started sleeping more lightly, and awoke each time a junkie came calling in the night - he was even able to fall asleep almost as soon as he closed his eyes, as though he were in complete control of when his body shut down and restarted.

His master didn't seem surprised at his sudden improvements, and even said it was only natural that they follow the onset of DRS - you can't fill your cup until you empty all it has.

~X~

About three weeks after he first started harvesting Zydrate, Apprentice was out raiding a graveyard with his master, and found that the recently-buried bodies he was digging up were unusually young. He started checking the ages the tombstones indicated as he worked through them: Ages 18, 15, 15, 17, 13…

_THIRTEEN?_

When he saw this, Apprentice hacked at the ground until the coffin was exposed and furiously pried it open, not wanting to believe it.

But it was true: There, lying in the coffin, was the body of a 13-year-old boy…completely gutted.

Apprentice shook with rage. He dropped the shovel, unable to hold onto it, his hands were shaking so badly. The boy had been gutted, and that meant organ repossession.

_Rotti._

Apprentice's shaking fingers curled into fists as his old rage flared in his chest, consuming him from the inside out like a bonfire. This was the height of injustice, far worse than the death of his father - this had been a _child_! _And Rotti probably laughed as it happened, too…_

He took a deep breath and turned his face to the sky, unable to contain his fury. Just before he let out a roar that would get him killed, however, his master's hand clamped over his mouth.

Apprentice struggled. The two of them were equally strong, but the necromerchant was more experienced with his strength, so he managed to force them both out of the graveyard before their fight drew any attention. Apprentice felt as though he had to channel his rage into something or it would literally consume him, so he attacked his master with all his might. The necromerchant didn't fight him back - instead, he tried to restrain his apprentice. They fought for several minutes, and the necromerchant was later left with a few bruises of his own, but finally, experience won out over maddening rage, and the necromerchant managed to pin his apprentice against a tree.

They were still, both breathing hard.

"What do you think you're doing, kid?" the necromerchant finally demanded in a low voice.

"That was a _child_!" Apprentice snarled. "Rotti ordered a repossession on a fucking _kid_! He's _evil_! That…that _monster_ has no humanity in him - _none_! He should die for all the things he's done! Someone should gut _him_ while _he's_ still awake and breathing, and see how _he_ likes it! He's…He's…!" Apprentice let out a cry of infuriated frustration.

"Look, kid, I'm not disagreeing with you," the necromerchant told Apprentice calmly, still not releasing his hold on his apprentice's wrists; "I've dug up kids even younger than that in the past, all of them killed by Repo-men. Rotti is evil, I wholeheartedly agree! But what do you think shouting at his guards and getting yourself killed will accomplish?"

"Someone has to stand up to all this," Apprentice growled. "Just being a necromerchant isn't rebellion enough - someone needs to show people a different way from compliance!"

"Kid, if those guards shot you, no one would ever know you died, except me and whoever I told," his master told him. "It wouldn't make the news - Rotti would cover it up, for that exact reason. Nothing would change - no one would even know about it. There's no point, trust me." The necromerchant grew stern. "You have to learn to control your temper, kid," he told his apprentice; "losing it, for any reason, can mean death in this business, and that would be a shame considering how far you've come."

Apprentice sighed, conceding. His master released him.

"Besides," the necromerchant added, "being a necromerchant _is_ a significant rebellion, as you well know."

"Just doing something he declared illegal doesn't _really_ affect Rotti," Apprentice grumbled.

His master raised an eyebrow at him. "If it weren't for us, people would give all their money to GeneCo to buy Zydrate," he pointed out; "in doing this job, we're essentially stealing from Rotti and GeneCo. You didn't think he had no _reason_ to outlaw our profession, did you?"

Apprentice blinked. "I…hadn't thought of that," he admitted.

"Well, now you have," the necromerchant said. He stood. "Come on, kid," he said; "let's finish up here."

"Yes, Master."

~X~

Early the next morning, Apprentice awoke to his master leaving the dumpster…quietly - almost as though he was trying to get away without Apprentice noticing.

"Master?" he asked. "Where are you going?"

The necromerchant paused, then slowly turned back to Apprentice. "I woke you?" he asked.

"Yes, Master," Apprentice said.

The necromerchant sighed, sitting back down in the trash. "I get up at this time every morning," he told his apprentice; "I have…some things I need to attend to each morning, before I can be ready for the day. I always leave you behind…but the fact that I woke you despite my caution tells me that your training is almost done."

"Master…where are you going?" Apprentice asked again.

His master shrugged, getting up once more and climbing out of the dumpster. "Somewhere I can get what I need to survive and do business, and what I need to keep you alive, too - like food. I'll show you the place when your training is done. For now, go back to sleep."

"Yes, Master," Apprentice said, and he shut himself down again.

~X~

Slowly, Apprentice's memory of his father's death faded; even his vow was lost to DRS. The rage he felt didn't fade, but he no longer remembered what it was caused by. This led to frustration that was like tinder to the blaze, until his burning resentment consumed him, driving out his ability to feel much of anything else. At the same time, though, he also started to become outwardly cold, like his master. His rage never stopped, but he learned to hide it behind a cold, indifferent mask or an insincere, friendly smile.

The last thing he held on to was his name - and if his master didn't ask him each morning if he remembered it, he probably would have forgotten it a lot faster. Each time, he racked his brains, trying to remember it, and for a month more, he managed to hold on to it. Eventually, though, the day came when his master asked him if he remembered his real name, and he thought hard about it for a full five minutes before finally giving up and replying, with full honesty, "No."

His master gave him a long look, then spoke the words Apprentice had been waiting to hear for seven months:

"It's time."


	8. Graverobber

"Come on, kid," the necromerchant said, turning and walking away briskly; "you have nothing else to learn."

"Where are we going, Master?" Apprentice asked, jogging to keep up.

"To get you initiated," his master replied; "you need a uniform and equipment, and we'll have to hurry if you're to be on your way in time for me to attend the Z gathering tonight."

"What about your job during the day?" Apprentice asked, confused.

"The junkies can go a few hours without me," the necromerchant said, waving Apprentice's protest aside; "you have no reason to stay here anymore, so you need to be readied to go. Your training is done."

_My training is done,_ Apprentice repeated to himself, hardly daring to believe it. _Finally…I get to spit in Rotti's face._ The rage that burned inside of him flared with elation at the prospect.

He followed his master down a few back alleys that grew more and more remote, until they were in a place he had never even _seen_ before. Suddenly, the necromerchant opened a dark door with no light behind it and walked in. Apprentice followed.

The room inside was dark to an almost cliche degree. It was laid out somewhat like a shop, albeit an empty one; there was a counter, behind which stood a man who was dressed in black and wore a mask, and that was all. The faint light seemed to have no true source; it was probably leaking in out of other places, which made the place too dark for most people to see in, but perfectly bright enough for a necromerchant to navigate with ease.

The necromerchant walked up to the counter behind which the masked man stood. Apprentice followed.

"Graverobber," the man greeted the necromerchant in a voice that reminded Apprentice of a snake.

"Necroman," Apprentice's master greeted the man in turn. He clapped Apprentice on the shoulder. "My apprentice here has finished his training," he told Necroman; "he needs to be outfitted."

"I see," Necroman said, turning his eyes on Apprentice.

Apprentice raised an eyebrow. "'Necroman'?" he repeated questioningly.

Necroman chuckled. "You didn't think necromerchants acted alone, did you?" he asked in a hiss. "Necromen are go-betweens - we provide necromerchants with what they need, for survival and business."

"This is where I came every morning, before I came back to get you," the necromerchant told Apprentice. "You're going to be dealing with necromen in the future; since necromerchants are unmistakable, we can't exactly walk into stores - besides which, some things necromerchants need can only be obtained here."

"Yes," Necroman hissed, and Apprentice suddenly realized that the masked man sounded _old_. "Now then…" He tilted his head. "What's your name, boy?" he asked Apprentice.

Apprentice blinked, surprised by the question. "Apprentice," he replied; "I don't remember my real name."

"I know the regulations," the necromerchant told Necroman, sounding slightly irritated; "I wouldn't have brought him to you if DRS hadn't taken his name."

"But this _is_ your _first_ apprentice, yes?" Necroman responded. "I need to make sure you did things right."

"I know the regulations," the necromerchant repeated.

"I have to be sure," Necroman said smoothly. He turned to Apprentice again. "How old are you, boy?" he asked.

"Eighteen, as of last week," Apprentice replied.

"Really?" his master asked. "You didn't tell me that, kid."

Apprentice looked at his master. "I didn't think it mattered," he said; "I'm not supposed to remember _any_ of my old life, am I?"

"Well, no, but no one forgets their birthday," the necromerchant chuckled; "that would be like asking you to forget your eye color."

"So young…" Necroman mused. "How long has this boy been in training?" he suddenly asked the necromerchant sharply.

"About seven months," the necromerchant replied. Necroman opened his mouth to say something, but the necromerchant quickly added, "Yes, I know that's not long, but there is nothing more for him to learn; he has worked hard, and is just as proficient as I am in all aspects of the lifestyle."

"And you're willing to stake his life on that?" Necroman asked.

"Yes," the necromerchant replied firmly.

"_My_ life?" Apprentice asked.

Necroman sighed. "The first apprentices always end up like this," he muttered, more to himself than to the necromerchant or Apprentice; "dead."

"Not this one," the necromerchant stated confidently.

"Excuse me, but why are we talking about _me_ dying?" Apprentice demanded of the two men.

"Necroman is simply concerned that you won't survive long," his master answered; "he's afraid your training has been insufficient to keep you alive once you're out raiding graveyards on your own." He turned to Necroman. "But he's wrong," he said firmly; "you're ready, kid."

Necroman sighed. "As you wish," he said; "it is _your_ place to say."

"Yes it is," the necromerchant said.

Necroman sighed again, then pulled out a length of tape measure and stepped out from behind the counter.

"Hold still, boy," he commanded Apprentice.

Apprentice looked at his master, who nodded. Apprentice obeyed.

Necroman paced around Apprentice a few times, much as the necromerchant had done when Apprentice had first asked to be trained.

"Slightly taller, but also slightly leaner," he muttered. He glanced at the necromerchant. "I'm guessing he's about your weight." It wasn't a question, so the necromerchant didn't answer, and Necroman went back to pacing. "At least your hair isn't black, like his - trying to bleach and color highlights in black hair is a bitch."

"Who are you?" Apprentice asked as Necroman began measuring him.

"A retired necromerchant, like many of my kind are nowadays," Necroman replied.

"Retired?" Apprentice asked. "But haven't there only been necromerchants for eighteen years or something?"

"Nineteen," Necroman corrected, working busily, "but that's long enough. I was rather old when I first started robbing graves, so I couldn't keep at it for more than twelve years myself. I was one of the first; I've seen almost all of the evolution of our lifestyle pass me by. I know everything there is to know about our history."

"I never really thought about this business _having_ a history," Apprentice mused. "How did it begin, anyway?"

Necroman chuckled, measuring every possible relevant length on Apprentice's body. "The first grave-robber was actually the first person to ever be injected with Zydrate," he told Apprentice; "the drug is highly addictive, and even though he knew what it was, his craving pushed him to extremes when he was refused further doses after it was done being tested. Also due to its addictiveness, when it started being used by surGENs, addiction to it swept across the globe like a plague. The first grave-robber realized that there was a fortune to be had in selling the stuff on the black market, so whenever he went out raiding, he saved some of what he stole and sold it to other addicts.

"When Rotti realized what was happening," Necroman went on, measuring both the length and width of each of Apprentice's individual fingers, "he outlawed grave-robbing." He chuckled. "Of course, this drew attention to the fact that there _was_ a Zydrate black market, and some people wanted a share in the profits. The first necromerchant started teaching other people how to gather the stuff, and when the profits were spread across the group of them too thinly, the new necromerchants moved to other places to start doing business; thus, the black market spread across the globe. Rotti eventually managed to infiltrate the original necromerchant's secret school, and the first necromerchant was executed before he'd been in the business for a full year. No necromerchant has worked on the city-island where Rotti lives since.

"The damage was done, however, and the Zydrate dealing business lived on. The rules, regulations, and uniform evolved over time, and were actually finalized _after_ I got in. Unlike necromerchants, we necromen don't stay in one place for very long, and we are how news in the black market gets transferred from place to place; and, as I said, we are the go-betweens for necromerchants and the more…shall we say, wholesome trades?" Necroman chuckled eerily, much as Apprentice's master often did. "Of course, the first of us were simple shopkeepers, if corrupt ones. Our part in the business started when necromerchants realized that, being unmistakeable, they can't simply walk into shops to buy food and such - and, once you're done here, neither will you," he told Apprentice.

Apprentice pondered these words; they complicated things slightly, considering what he was planning to do once his 'initiation' was finished…

Once Necroman had gathered enough measurements to create a true-to-life-proportioned statue of Apprentice from the neck down, he went back behind the counter, took out a piece of paper and a pencil, and started writing something - presumably the measurements - down. This took a couple of silent minutes, and then Necroman took the paper and walked through a door behind the counter, leaving Apprentice and his master alone.

"Does he scare you?" the necromerchant asked Apprentice.

Apprentice looked at his master, surprised by the question. "No," he replied; "why should he?"

The necromerchant shrugged. "I was just wondering," he said; "_I_ was afraid of necromen when _I_ first met one."

"We really are opposites," Apprentice commented. "Really, though; what's to be afraid of? Sure he's creepy, but so are you…and I'd be willing to bet that I am, too."

"No you're not," the necromerchant said, smiling slightly; "not yet, at least. Once you're outfitted, you might be."

"If I'm going to end up looking like you, I'm sure I will," Apprentice said.

The necromerchant chuckled, just as Necroman came back in.

"Come with me, boy," Necroman said brusquely before turning right back around.

Apprentice followed.

The area behind the counter turned out to be a hallway, off which several doors branched. The light still had no apparent source, and was thus incredibly dim; still, it was more than enough for Apprentice.

Apprentice followed Necroman into a room - again, dark and unadorned - at the center of which was a chair like a doctor's chair. Without needing prompting, Apprentice sat down, and Necroman went to work.

"The reason we need to put highlights of every color in your hair," Necroman told him as he started bleaching locks of Apprentice's hair, "is so that no one can say with absolute certainty what your natural hair color is. It will, of course, be what the main body of your hair will be, but with all the added colors, there can be no certainty."

"Why do you highlight with colors that hair can't possibly naturally be?" Apprentice asked.

Necroman chuckled. "That's just how the world works. Everyone dyes their hair nowadays, and not always is it even _supposed_ to look natural. Besides, we need to emphasize the fact that your hair is dyed, so that everyone will know to doubt."

Apprentice accepted this.

While they were waiting for the bleach to work on the locks of his reddish-brown hair, Necroman started applying the makeup and lipstick.

"The reason necromerchants wear white makeup and dark lipstick is so that no one can say for sure what our skin color is, either," he explained. "I'm going to put it on for you this time, so you know what it feels like to have your skin properly covered, but you will have to do it yourself in the future."

"No problem," Apprentice said.

To Apprentice's surprise, though, the makeup had to be applied to his entire arms, his shoulders, his neck, and the upper half of his chest and back in addition to his face. When Necroman tried to start applying it to Apprentice's armpits, Apprentice jerked away.

Necroman sighed. "I've done this many times, boy, and it's necessary," he told Apprentice; "all the skin that could potentially show at any point in your career needs to be covered, both for safety's sake and for tradition's sake. Now, I would rather not have to knock you out just to do this - and I have done that in the past, when pressed - so hold still."

Apprentice complied, though it was very strange for someone to be touching his armpits.

The bleaching took a little while, and the recoloring of most of the highlights took even more time. Necroman was precise, and as such, very slow, so the entire process took several hours. Apprentice didn't feel like a woman getting a makeover so much as he felt like a soldier putting on war paint - after all, he had expected this, since all necromerchants looked alike.

When it was all done, Apprentice followed Necroman back out to the front room where his master waited.

"Red, blue, yellow, and more, all on a maroon background" the necromerchant commented, looking at Apprentice's hair; "kid, your hair looks like a dark rainbow."

"Is that good or bad?" Apprentice asked, raising an eyebrow at his master.

"Neither," Necroman answered for the necromerchant, "though it _is_ rare. Wait a moment," he added, and he turned back around and left them again.

"Have you been waiting for me this whole time?" Apprentice asked his master.

"Yes," his master replied.

"But what about your job?" Apprentice asked, slightly confused.

The necromerchant shrugged. "I just wanted to be sure I'd be here when you were done," he said; "until you're fully outfitted and settled in another community, you're still my responsibility."

"Thank you, Master," Apprentice said softly; for the first time, he realized what he was going to lose by going off on his own…and that he would actually miss his master once he left.

Necroman returned before Apprentice could say anything more sentimental, carrying a full new necromerchant uniform. He held the clothes out to Apprentice, who put them on: knee-high combat boots, a special belt where Zydrate vials could be stored, a thick brown coat trimmed with fake fur, and thick black gloves studded with metal.

"If you want a change in the shirt and pants, you'll have to handle that on your own," Necroman told him.

"I will," Apprentice said. The uniform had been tailored to fit him like a second skin over his clothes; the weight felt comfortable, almost familiar, even though he had never worn anything but jeans, a t-shirt, and hiking boots at any point in his memory.

"I'll see him off," the necromerchant said to Necroman. Then, turning to Apprentice, he said, "Come on."

Apprentice nodded. "Thank you, Necroman," he said to the masked man, and he turned to leave with his master. Beside the door, a mirror he hadn't noticed hung from the ceiling to the floor. Unable to resist, he looked at himself in it.

He had been completely transformed. Apart from the fact that his jaw was stronger, he was slightly taller and leaner, his face was more featured, and the main body of his hair was reddish-brown and somewhat shorter (though it would grow more in time), he was the spitting image of his master.

He stood a bit straighter, proud of who he was. A necromerchant. Unmistakeable. There was just one thing missing…

"Don't I need my own set of equipment?" he asked his master as they left.

Just outside, his master stopped and turned to look at him. Apprentice met his master's intense gaze silently for a minute, unafraid. Then, without breaking eye contact, the necromerchant lifted his pack off his back and held it out to his apprentice.

"This is yours now," he said.

Apprentice stared at it. "You're not retiring, are you?" he asked.

The necromerchant chuckled. "No," he replied, "but it's custom for a necromerchant to hand over his old equipment when his or her apprentice completes their training. I'll get a new set, don't you worry."

"Thank you, Master," Apprentice said, and he took the pack and slung it over his back.

"No longer," the necromerchant said. "We are equals now; from this moment on, call me 'Brother'."

"What?" Apprentice asked.

The necromerchant lifted a hand and put it on his former apprentice's shoulder. "Congratulations," he said formally; "your training is complete. I am no longer your master, and your name is no longer Apprentice; from now until the day you die, your name is Graverobber."

The new Graverobber smiled. "I can't think of a name I could bear more proudly," he said.

The old necromerchant chuckled. "As for fellow necromerchants like myself…you are to call our kind 'Brother', for you are now one of us." He sighed. "There's just one last thing for you now," he told the new Graverobber: "where you're going to work. As I told you at the beginning - you may not remember - only one necromerchant can work per community, so we don't end up warring with each other. Your best bet is to search around for a place where the local necromerchant has recently been executed-"

"There's no need for that…Brother," the new Graverobber told his former master, taking a moment for the name 'Brother' to come instead of 'Master'; "I know where I'm going. I've known, ever since I saw that boy who had been repossessed on…maybe even since you first told me I wouldn't be able to work here…possibly even before that, when I first decided to become a necromerchant, though I can't remember when that was or why."

"But you _can't_ know," the old necromerchant protested; "you can't be sure that a necromerchant isn't already working there."

"Yes I can," the new Graverobber said with a smile. "I had a feeling it was vacant, since simply to work there would be to bend the first part of the first rule of our business, but Necroman just confirmed it for me a few hours ago."

The old necromerchant's eyes widened with realization.

"I'm going to the ninth circle of Hell, to live and deal where the devil dwells," the new Graverobber said proudly; "I'm going to Italy, to the city-island where the main GeneCo headquarters is based." He smiled wickedly. "Do tell Necroman that one of his kind needs to start working there now, too, won't you?"

"Italy? But that's dangerous, Brother!" the old necromerchant exclaimed.

"I don't care," Graverobber said firmly; "if I can deal just one vial of Zydrate in Rotti's backyard, then all this effort will have been worth it."

The old necromerchant chuckled. "A rebel to the end, aren't you?" he commented.

Graverobber clenched his fists. "I loathe Rotti and GeneCo," he growled; "I can't remember why, but night and day, a burning rage fills me, eating me alive at the thought of that monster sitting on a throne, ending human lives, young and old, with impunity. I must live my life as rebelliously as I can." He thought for a second. "Do _you_ know why I'm so angry, Brother?" he asked his former master. "I can't recall for the life of me…I know it has to do with something more than just seeing that boy I dug up, gutted, but…"

"Yes…I know why," the old necromerchant said slowly. "Still, it's best you not dwell on it, Brother; it's part of your old life, and best forgotten."

Graverobber nodded. "As you say, Brother," he conceded, marveling at how quickly it had become easy for him to accept and use the title 'Brother'.

The old necromerchant nodded, then held out his hand. "Good luck, Brother," he said.

"Thank you, Brother," the new necromerchant replied, taking his former master's hand and shaking it. "For everything," he added after a moment.

The old necromerchant blinked.

Graverobber smiled. "I don't remember much from the early days of my apprenticeship," he said, "but I do remember promising that I would be grateful to you, no matter what." He inclined his head. "I have kept that promise," he told his former master; "I am forever in your debt for training me…and I will miss you, Brother."

"You'll _miss_ me?" the old necromerchant repeated incredulously. "Even after everything I did to you, all the abuse I made you suffer?"

Graverobber chuckled. "It was all for my own good, in the end," he said; "in truth, you are the closest thing to a father I will ever remember having."

"Funny you should say 'father'…" the old necromerchant muttered.

"Why?" asked Graverobber.

His former master looked at him. "You really don't remember?" he asked softly.

Graverobber shook his head, not even bothering to ask what his former master meant. "No," he replied.

The old necromerchant sighed. "Well, I suppose that's just as well," he said.

Graverobber nodded again. He thought for a moment, then said, "Tell me something, Brother: Did you enjoy corrupting me?"

His former master chuckled. "Sometimes," he admitted; "mostly when I was jealous of your heart. Sometimes, though, I was truly sorry that you had to end up like me."

"Don't despair, Brother," Graverobber said, giving his master a half-smile; "I still know what's right and wrong. I can set it _aside_, when I need to, but I still have my moral compass."

"Really?" asked the old necromerchant. "Well, in that case…you are truly one-of-a-kind, Brother."

Graverobber tilted his head. "Would you please call me 'kid' one more time?" he asked of his former master. "It's just…it feels strange, to suddenly be your equal."

His former master laughed nastily. "You are, and have always been, far _above_ me…_kid_," he said.

Graverobber smiled - the last pure, genuinely happy smile that would ever cross his face - as a wave of nostalgia swept over him. _This is the last time I will ever be able to converse with someone honestly,_ he reflected, and a bit of sadness mixed with his eternal rage for a moment…only to ultimately be burned away by the pain that burned inside him, forevermore, like a fire that couldn't be contained.

The two necromerchants were silent for a moment. Then, Graverobber bowed slightly in farewell.

"Goodbye, Brother," he said.

"Be well on your way, Brother," his former master replied.

He nodded again, then turned and walked away. By the time he got to Italy, he couldn't even remember where he had come from.

~X~

Graverobber stood close to the barren-shored channel across which stood the city-island where the devil lived.

He looked intently at the island that was to be his new home. The beaches, he saw, had been entirely converted to barren graveyards; all the gray suggested to Graverobber that his job wasn't going to consist of digging so much as lifting heavy stone covers off of tombs.

Fine by him.

He raised his eyes to look at the skyscraper on which the GeneCo logo blazed in the form of a huge neon sign: the very heart of the darkness that covered the globe.

_Rotti's in there._

His eyes narrowed. _Can you see me, you bastard?_ he thought._ I wish you could. I wish you could see me standing here, hating you, ready to steal right out from under your nose. If I ever meet you…I'll kill you._

He blinked at this thought as he realized it wasn't true; he would never hurt anyone, not even Rotti. Still…

He smiled to himself. _The life I was born to lead starts now._

He took a step forward…and hesitated. There was something he wanted to do, but he couldn't remember what…

After five minutes, he gave up. _If it's something I don't remember, then it's part of my old life, which means it's dead now,_ he decided - leaving his soul to say the little prayer unacknowledged by his conscious mind:

_This is for you, Father; I hope you're proud of me._

And so, Graverobber crossed the channel, never to go back - not knowing who he was, or where he had come from; not knowing that in doing this job, he would meet, not only the nastiest bitch in the world, but also the last uncorrupted soul in existence; not knowing the pivotal (if behind-the-scenes) role he would play in the world's future; not knowing anything except the fact that this was what he was meant to do. For better. And for worse.


	9. Update

Just FYI for anyone who might care: I've published about half of chapter five ("Trial By Fuck") now. The most explicit part is still censored, but the first and last parts have been released now, as well as a very brief summary of what's being left out in the middle. Enjoy. ;)


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